•71 


JHarp  Johnston 


THE   FORTUNES  OF  GARIN.     Illustrated. 

THE   WITCH.    With  frontispiece. 

HAGAR. 

THE  LONG  ROLL.     The  first  of  two  books  dealing 

with  the  war  between  the  States.  With  Illustrations 

in  color  by  N   C.  WYETH. 
CEASE  FIRING.     The  second  of  two  books  dealing 

with  the  war  between  the  States.  With  illustrations 

in  color  by  N.  C.  WYETH. 
LEWIS  RAND.     With  Illustrations  in  color  by  F.  C. 

YOHN. 

AUDREY.    With  Illustrations  in  color  by  F.  C.  YOHN. 

PRISONERS  OF  HOPE.     With  Frontispiece. 

TO  HAVE  AND  TO   HOLD.     With  8  Illustrations  by 

HOWARD  PYLE,  E.  B.  THOMPSON,  A.  W.  BBTTS,  and 

EMLEN  MCCONNELL. 


THE  GODDESS  OF  REASON.     A  Drama, 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 


:r 


THE   MEETING   BY   ST.    MARTHA'S   WELL 


THE  FORTUNES  OF 
GARIN 

BY 

MARY  JOHNSTON 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

(OTf)e  tftesi&c  press  Cambridge 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,    1915,    BY    MARY  JOHNSTON 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  II 


5>J-,H    ..:A,. 


Cfif  »fotr 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .    S   .   A 


CONTENTS 

I.  ROCHE-DE-FRENE I 

II.  THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL      .      .      .13 

III.  THE  NIGHTINGALE    ........    31 

IV.  THE  ABBOT 47 

V.  RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 61 

VI.  THE  GARDEN      ......      .      .      .73 

VII.  THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 85 

VIII.  TOURNAMENT 99 

IX.  GARIN  SEEKS  HIS  FORTUNE 115 

X.  GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 127 

XL  THIBAUT  CANTELEU 144 

XII.  MONTMAURE 159 

XIII.  THE  VENETIAN         174 

XIV.  OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 189 

XV.  SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 204 

XVI.  GARIN  AND  JAUFRE 219 

XVII.  OUR  LADY  OF  ROCHE-DE-FRENE       .      .      .      .231 

XVIII.  COUNT  JAUFRE 246 

XIX.  THE  SIEGE 261 

XX.  THE  WHITE  TOWER 272 

XXL  THE  ROCK-GATE 282 

XXII.  THE  SAFFRON  CROSS 295 

XXIII.  CAP-DU-LOUP 309 

XXIV.  THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN         .      .      .      .319 
XXV.  RICHARD  LION-HEART 335 

XXVI.  THE  FAIR  GOAL 346 

XXVII.  SPRING  TIME 361 


918886 


THE  FORTUNES 
OF  GARIN 


CHAPTER   I 

ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

WITHOUT  blazed  autumn  sunshine,  strong  as  sum 
mer  sunshine  in  northern  lands.  Within  the  cathe 
dral  dusk  ruled,  rich  and  mysterious.  The  sanctuary 
light  burned,  a  star.  The  candles  were  yet  smoking, 
the  incense  yet  clung,  thick  and  pungent.  Vanishing 
through  the  sacristy  door  went  the  last  flutter  of 
acolyte  or  chorister.  The  throng  that  worshipped 
dwindled  to  a  few  lingering  shapes.  The  rest  dis 
appeared  by  the  huge  portal,  marvellously  sculp 
tured.  It  had  been  a  great  throng,  for  Bishop  Ugo 
had  preached.  Now  the  cathedral  was  almost 
empty,  and  more  rich,  more  mysterious  because  of 
that.  The  saints  in  their  niches  could  be  seen  the 
better,  and  the  gold  dust  from  the  windows  came  in 
unbroken  shafts  to  the  pavement.  There  they 
splintered  and  light  lay  in  fragments.  One  of  these 
patches  made  a  strange  glory  for  the  head  of  Boni 
face  of  Beaucaire  who  was  doing  penance,  stretched 
out  on  the  pavement  like  a  cross.  Lost  in  the  shad 
ows  of  nave,  aisles,  and  chapels  were  other  penitents, 
on  their  knees,  muttering  prayers.  Hugues  from 

i 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

up  the  river  lay  on  his  face,  half  in  light,  half  in 
shadow,  before  the  shrine  of  Saint  Martial.  Hugues's 
penance  had  been  heavy,  for  he  was  a  captain  of 
Free  Lances  and  had  beset  and  robbed  a  travelling 
monk.  But  in  Hugues's  cavern  that  night  the  monk 
turned  preacher  and  wrought  so  mightily  that  he 
brought  Hugues  —  who  was  a  simple,  emotional 
soul  —  to  his  knees,  and  the  next  day,  when  they 
parted,  sent  him  here  for  penance.  He  lay  bare  to 
the  waist,  and  his  back  was  bloody  from  the  scourg 
ing  he  had  received  before  the  church  doors. 

The  church  was  a  marvel.  It  had  been  building 
for  long,  long  while,  and  it  was  not  yet  finished.  It 
was  begun  by  a  grateful  population,  at  the  instiga 
tion  of  the  then  bishop,  in  the  year  1035.  All  Chris 
tendom  had  set  the  year  1000  for  the  Second 
Coming  and  the  Judgement  Day,  and  as  the  time 
approached  had  waited  in  deep  gloom  and  with  a 
palsied  will  for  those  august  arrivals.  When  the 
year  passed,  with  miseries  enough,  but  with  no 
rolling  back  of  the  firmament  like  a  scroll,  it  was 
concluded  that  what  had  been  meant  was  the  thou 
sandth  from  the  Crucifixion.  1033  was  now  set  for 
the  Final  Event,  and  the  neglect  of  each  day,  the 
torpor  and  terror  of  the  mind,  continued.  But  1033 
passed,  marked  by  nothing  more  dreadful  than 
famine  and  common  wretchedness.  Christendom 
woke  from  that  particular  trance,  sighed  with  relief, 
and  began  to  grow  —  to  grow  with  vigour  and  rapid 
ity,  writh  luxuriance  and  flourishes. 


ROGHE-DE-FRENE 

In  1035,  then,  the  cathedral  had  been  begun,  and 
to-morrow  morning,  here  in  the  last  quarter  of  the 
twelfth  century,  the  stone  masons  would  go  clinking, 
clinking  up  yonder,  atop  of  the  first  of  the  two  tow 
ers.  No  man  really  knew  when  it  would  be  finished. 
But  for  a  century  nave,  aisles,  choir,  and  chapels  had 
been  completed.  Under  the  wonderful  roof  three 
generations  of  the  people  of  Roche-de-Frene  had 
bowed  themselves  when  the  bell  rang  and  the  Host 
was  elevated.  The  cathedral  had  the  hallowing  of 
time.  It  was  an  Inheritance  as  was  the  Faith  that 
bred  it.  The  atmosphere  of  this  place  was  the  atmos 
phere  of  emotion,  and  strong  as  were  the  pillars, 
they  were  no  stronger  than  was  the  Habit  which 
brought  the  feet  this  way  and  bowed  the  heads ;  and 
clinging  and  permeating  as  was  the  incense,  it  was 
no  more  so  than  the  sentiment  that  stretched  yonder 
Boniface  of  Beaucaire  and  here  Hugues  the  Free 
Lance.  Boniface  of  Beaucaire  would  cheat  again  and 
Hugues  the  Free  Lance  rob  and  slay,  but  here  they 
were,  no  hypocrites,  and  cleaner  in  this  moment 
than  they  had  been. 

There  were  two  pillars,  one  twisted,  one  straight, 
that  had  been  brought  from  Palestine  by  Gaucelm 
the  Crusader,  father  of  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate,  the 
present  Prince,  and  set  on  either  side  the  shrine  of 
Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene.  A  shaft  of  light  from 
the  great  window  struck  across  the  two,  broke,  and 
made  the  pavement  sunny. 

Just  here  knelt  a  youth,  in  a  squire's  dress  of  green 

3 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

and  brown.  He  had  no  penance  to  perform.  He  was 
kneeling  because  he  was  in  a  kneeling  mood.  The 
light  showed  a  well-made,  supple  figure,  with  power 
ful  shoulders.  The  head  and  throat  were  good,  the 
face  rather  long,  with  strong  features,  the  colouring 
blonde  inclining  to  brown,  the  eyes  grey  with  blue 
glints.  They  were  directed  now  to  the  image  of  the 
Virgin,  above  him  in  her  niche,  the  other  side  of  the 
gold  light.  She  stood,  incredibly  slender,  and  taller 
than  human,  rose-cheeked,  dressed  in  azure  samite 
sewn  with  gems,  with  a  crown,  and  in  her  two  hands 
a  crimson  heart  pierced  by  an  iron  arrow.  A  lamp 
burned  before  her,  and  there  were  flowers  around. 

The  youth  knelt  with  a  fixed  gaze,  asking  for 
inspiration.  .  .  .  The  Virgin  of  Roche-de-Frene 
seemed  to  move,  to  dilate,  to  breathe,  to  smile!  The 
young  man  sank  his  head,  stretched  forth  his  arms. 
11 0  Our  Lady,  smile  on  me!  O  Our  Lady,  give  me 
to-day  a  sign!" 

The  cathedral  grew  a  place  of  mystery,  of  high, 
transcendent  passion.  The  lamp  appeared  to 
brighten,  the  heart  in  the  two  hands  to  glow. 

"Is  it  a  sign  that  I  am  to  serve  Her  in  Holy 
Church?"  thought  Garin  de  Castel-Noir,  uor,  may 
hap,  that  I  am  to  serve  Her  with  lance  and  shield? 
Is  it  a  sign,  or  am  I  mistaken?  If  it  were  a  sign, 
would  I  ask  if  I  were  mistaken?"  He  sighed.  "O 
High  God,  give  me  a  sign!" 

He  had  to  decide  no  less  a  thing  than  his  career. 
Until  a  little  while  ago  he  had  thought  that  matter 

4 


ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

settled.  He  was  esquire  to  a  poor  lord,  a  fierce  and  a 
stupid  lord,  and  he  had  no  hope  but  to  remain 
esquire  for  years  perhaps  to  come.  But,  come  soon 
or  come  late,  one  day  his  lord  would  make  him 
knight.  That  done,  and  his  saint  favouring,  he 
might  somehow  achieve  honour.  Three  months  ago 
his  lot  had  seemed  as  fixed  as  that  of  a  fir  tree 
growing  below  his  lord  Raimbaut's  black  keep. 
Then  into  the  matter  had  stepped  the  Abbot  of 
Saint  Pamphilius,  that  was  kinsman  of  Garin  and 
of  his  brother,  Foulque  the  Cripple,  who  bided  at 
Castel-Noir. 

With  simplicity,  the  squire  explained  it  to  Our 
Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene:  "  He  is  our  near  kinsman, 
and  he  knows  how  poor  are  Foulque  and  I,  and  he 
knows,  too,  Lord  Raimbaut,  and  the  little  we  may 
expect.  And  now  he  says  that  if  I  will  give  up  hope 
of  chivalry  and  take  the  tonsure,  he  will  be  my  good 
patron.  And  if  I  work  well  with  head  and  pen  and 
prove  myself  able,  he  will  charge  himself  that  I  ad 
vance  and  win  great  promotion.  If  I  serve  him 
well,  so  will  he  serve  me  well.  O  Our  Lady,"  ended 
Garin,  "he  is  a  great  man  as  you  know,  and  close 
friend  to  Bishop  Ugo.  Moreover,  he  and  Foulque 
have  made  application  to  my  lord  Raimbaut  and 
won  him  to  consent.  And  Foulque  urges  me  toward 
Holy  Church.  But  O  Blessed  Lady,"  cried  Garin, 
and  stretched  forth  his  arms,  "do  I  wish  to  go?  I 
know  not  —  I  know  not ! " 

The  Virgin  of  Roche-de-Frene,  crowned  and  daz- 

5 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

zling,  stood  in  blue  samite  with  her  heart  and  arrow, 
but  said  no  word  and  gave  no  sign.  .  .  .  Raimbaut 
and  his  knighthood  —  the  Abbot  and  Holy  Church 
—  and  Foulque  with  his  song,  "Choose  the  Abbot! 
Work  hard  and  be  supple  and  further  the  ends  of 
Holy  Church,  twining  your  own  ends  with  that 
golden  cord.  No  telling  to  what  height  you  may  rise ! 
Great  wealth  and  power  fall  to  them  who  serve  her 
to  her  profit  and  liking.  You  crave  learning.  On 
which  road,  I  put  it  to  you,  will  you  gather  most  of 
that?"  So  Foulque.  And  Bishop  Ugo  had  preached, 
this  morn,  of  the  glory  and  power  of  Holy  Church 
and  of  the  crowns  laid  up  for  them  who  served  her. 

The  squire  sighed  deeply.  He  must  make  decision. 
The  Abbot  would  not  always  keep  that  look  of  in 
vitation.  He  had  other  young  and  needy  kins 
men.  Worldly  considerations  enough  flitted  through 
Garin's  head,  but  they  found  something  there  beside 
themselves.  "  In  deep  truth,  which  is  mine?  To 
endure  until  I  may  ride  as  knight  and  find  or  make 
some  door  in  a  high,  thick  wall?  To  take  the  ton 
sure  —  to  study,  work  and  plan  —  to  become,  may 
be,  canon,  and  after  long  time,  larger  things?  .  .  . 
Which  is  mine?  This  —  or  that  —  or  either?  O 
Blessed  Lady,  I  would  choose  from  within!" 

The  tall,  jewelled  Queen  of  Heaven  looked  serenely 
down  upon  him.  She  had  ceased  to  breathe.  The 
sign  seemed  not  to  be  coming.  He  had  before  him  a 
long  ride,  and  he  must  go,  with  or  without  the  token. 
He  kept  his  position  yet  another  minute,  then,  with 

6 


ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

a  deep  sigh,  relinquished  the  quest.  Rising,  he 
stepped  backward  from  the  presence  of  the  Virgin  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  out  of  the  line  of  the  Saracen  pil 
lars.  As  he  went,  the  climbing  shaft  of  amber  light 
caught  his  eye  and  forthwith  Jacob's  ladder  came 
into  his  head,  and  he  began  to  send  slim  angels  up 
and  down  it.  He  had  a  potent  fancy. 

Leaving  the  church,  he  passed  Boniface  of  Beau- 
caire  and  Hugues  the  Free  Lance.  His  step  made  a 
ringing  on  the  pavement  beside  their  prone  heads. 
He  felt  for  them  no  contempt.  They  were  making, 
more  or  less,  an  honourable  amende.  Everybody  in 
their  lives  had  done  or  would  do  penance,  and  after 
life  came  purgatory.  He  passed  them  as  he  might 
pass  any  other  quite  usual  phenomenon,  and  so 
quitted  the  cathedral. 

Outside  was  Roche-de-Frene,  grey,  close-built, 
massed  upon  the  long  hill-top,  sending  spurs  of 
houses  down  the  hillsides  between  olive  and  cypress, 
almond  and  plane  and  pine — Roche-de-Fr6ne,  so 
well-walled,  Roche-de-Frene  beat  upon,  laved, 
drowned  by  the  southern  sun. 

Crown  of  its  wide-browed  craggy  hill  rose  another 
hill ;  crown  of  this,  a  grey  dream  in  the  fiery  day, 
sprang  the  castle  of  its  prince,  of  that  Gaucelm  the 
Fortunate  whose  father  had  brought  the  pillars. 
The  cathedral  had  its  lesser  rise  of  earth  and  faced 
the  castle,  and  beside  the  cathedral  was  the  bishop's 
palace,  and  between  the  church  and  the  castle, 
up  and  down  and  over  the  hillsides,  spread  the  town. 

7 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

The  sky  was  as  blue  as  the  robe  of  the  Virgin  of 
Roche-de-Frene.  The  southern  horizon  showed  a 
gleam  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  north  and  west 
had  purple  mountains.  In  the  narrow  streets  be 
tween  the  high  houses,  and  in  every  little  opening 
and  chance  square  the  people  of  Roche-de-Fr£ne, 
men,  women  and  children,  talked,  laughed,  and 
gestured.  It  was  a  feast  day,  holiday,  merry  in  the 
sun.  Wine  was  being  drunk,  jongleurs  were  telling 
tales  and  playing  the  mountebank. 

Garin  sought  his  inn  and  his  horse.  He  was  in 
Roche-de-Frene  upon  Raimbaut's  business,  but  that 
over,  he  had  leave  to  ride  to  Castel-Noir  and  spend 
three  days  with  his  brother.  The  merry-making  in 
the  town  tempted,  but  the  way  was  long  and  he  must 
go.  A  chain  of  five  girls  crossed  his  path,  brown, 
laughing,  making  dancing  steps,  their  robes  kilted 
high,  red  and  yellow  flowers  in  their  hair.  "What 
a  beautiful  young  man!"  said  their  eyes.  "Stay  — 
stay!"  Garin  wanted  to  stay  —  but  he  was  not 
without  judgement  and  he  went.  At  the  inn  he  had 
a  spare  dinner,  the  only  kind  for  which  he  could  pay. 
A  bit  of  meat,  a  piece  of  bread,  a  bunch  of  grapes,  a 
cup  of  wine  —  then  his  horse  at  the  door. 

Half  a  dozen  men-at-arms  from  the  castle  passed 
this  way.  They  stopped.  "  That 's  a  good  steed !" 

Garin  mounted.    "None  better,"  he  said  briefly. 

The  grizzled  chief  of  the  six  laid  an  approving 
touch  upon  the  silken  flank.  "Where  did  you  get 
him?" 

8 


ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

Garin  took  the  reins.    "At  home." 

"Good  page,  where  is  that?" 

"I  am  not  page,  I  am  esquire,"  said  Garin. 

"Good  esquire,  where  is  that?" 

"'That'  is  Castel-Noir." 

"A  little  black  tower  in  a  big  black  wood?  I  know 
the  place,"  said  the  grizzled  one.  "Your  lord  is 
Raimbaut  of  the  Six  Fingers." 

"Just." 

"Whose  lord  is  the  Count  of  Montmaure,  whose 
lord  is  our  Prince  Gaucelm,  whose  lord  is  the  King 
at  Paris,  whose  lord  is  the  Pope  in  Rome,  whose  lord 
is  God  on  His  Throne.  —  Do  you  wish  to  sell  your 
horse?" 

"I  do  not." 

"I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him,"  said  the  man- 
at-arms.  "But  there!  the  land  is  at  peace.  Go 
your  ways  —  go  your  ways!  Are  you  for  the  joust 
ing  in  the  castle  lists  ?" 

"No.   I  would  see  it,  but  I  have  not  time." 

"You  would  see  a  pretty  sight,"  quoth  the  man- 
at-arms.  "There  is  Prince  Gaucelm's  second  prin 
cess,  to  wit  Madame  Alazais  that  is  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  world,  and  sitting  beside  her  the 
prince's  daughter,  our  princess  Audiart,  that  is  not 
so  beautiful." 

"They  say,"  spoke  Garin,  "that  she  is  not  beau 
tiful  at  all." 

"That  same  'They  say'  is  a  shifty  knave.  —  Bet 
ter  go,  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  man-at- 

9 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

arms,  "for  truly  I  have  not  been  lately  to  the 
lists." 

But  Garin  adhered  to  it  that  he  could  not.  He 
made  Paladin  to  curvet,  bound  and  caracole,  then 
with  a  backward  laugh  and  wave  of  his  hand  went 
his  way  —  but  caused  his  way  to  1  ead  him  past  the 
castle  of  Roche-de-Frene. 

So  riding  by,  he  looked  up  wistfully  to  barbican 
and  walls  and  towers.  The  place  was  vast,  a  great 
example  of  what  a  castle  might  be.  Enough  folk  for 
a  town  housed  within  it.  At  one  point  tree  tops, 
peering  over  the  walls,  spoke  of  an  included  garden. 
Above  the  donjon  just  stirred  in  the  autumn  air  the 
great  blue  banner  of  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate.  The 
mighty  gates  were  open,  the  drawbridge  down,  the 
water  in  the  moat  smiled  as  if  it  had  neither  memory 
nor  premonition  of  dead  men  in  its  arms.  People 
were  crossing,  gay  of  dress.  The  sunny  noon,  the 
holiday  time,  softened  all  the  hugeness,  kept  one 
from  seeing  what  a  frown  Roche-de-Frene  might 
wear.  Garin  heard  trumpets.  The  esquire  of  Raim- 
baut  the  Six-fingered,  the  brother  of  Foulque  the 
Cripple,  the  youth  from  the  small  black  tower  in  the 
black  wood,  gazed  and  listened  with  parted  lips. 
Raimbaut  held  from  Montmaure,  but  for  Raim- 
baut's  fief  and  other  fiefs  adjacent,  Montmaure  who 
held  mainly  from  the  House  of  Aquitaine,  owed 
Roche-de-Frene  fealty.  Being  feudal  lord  of  his 
lord,  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  was  lord  of  Foulque 
the  Cripple  and  Garin  the  Squire.  The  latter  won- 

10 


ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

dered  if  ever  he  would  enter  there  where  the  trum 
pets  were  blowing. 

The  great  pile  passed,  the  town  itself  passed,  he 
found  himself  upon  a  downward  sweeping  road  and 
so,  by  zig-zags,  left  the  hill  of  Roche-de-Fr£ne  and 
coming  to  the  plain  rode  west  by  north  between 
shorn  fields  and  vineyards.  The  way  was  fair  but 
lonely,  for  the  country  folk  were  gone  to  the  town  for 
this  day  of  the  patron  saint  and  were  not  yet  return 
ing.  Before  him  lay  woods  —  for  much  of  the  coun 
try  was  wooded  then  —  and  craggy  hills,  and  in  the 
distance  purple  mountains.  He  had  some  leagues  to 
ride.  Now  and  again  he  might  see,  to  this  hand  or  to 
that,  a  castle  upon  a  height,  below  it  a  huddled 
brown  hamlet.  Late  in  the  afternoon  there  would 
lie  to  his  right  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt. 
But  his  road  was  not  one  of  the  great  travelled  ways. 
It  traversed  a  sparsely  populated  region,  and  it  was 
going,  presently,  to  be  lonely  enough. 

Garin  rode  with  sunken  head,  trying  to  settle 
matters  before  he  should  see  Foulque.  If  Raimbaut 
had  been  a  liberal,  noble,  joyous  lord!  But  he  was 
none  such.  It  was  little  that  page  or  esquire  could 
learn  in  his  gloomy  castle,  and  little  chance  might 
have  knight  of  his.  A  gloomy  castle,  and  a  lord  of 
little  worth,  and  a  lady  old  and  shrewish.  .  .  .  Every 
man  must  have  a  lord  —  or  so  was  Garin 's  world 
arranged.  But  if  only  every  man  could  choose  one 
to  his  liking  — 

The  road  bent.  Rounding  a  craggy  corner,  Pala- 

ii 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

din  and  he  well-nigh  trod  upon  a  sleeping  man, 
propped  at  the  road  edge  against  a  grey  boulder. 
Paladin  curvetted  aside,  Garin  swore  by  his  favour 
ite  saint,  the  man  awoke  and  stretched  his  arms. 
He  was  young,  —  five  or  six  years  older,  perhaps, 
than  Garin.  His  dress,  when  it  came  to  hue  and 
cut,  showed  extravagant  and  gay,  but  the  stuffs  of 
which  it  was  composed  were  far  from  costly.  Here 
showed  a  rent,  rather  neatly  darned,  and  here  a  soil 
rubbed  away  as  thoroughly  as  might  be.  He  was 
dark  and  thin,  with  long,  narrow  eyes  that  gave  him 
an  Eastern  look.  Beside  him,  slung  from  his  neck  by 
a  ribbon,  lay  a  lute,  and  he  smiled  with  professional 
brilliancy. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD- GIRL 

"  JONGLEUR,"  said  Garin,  "some  miles  from  this 
spot  there  is  a  feast  day  in  a  fair  town.  This  is  the 
strangest  thing  that  ever  I  saw,  that  a  jongleur 
should  be  here  and  not  there!" 

"Esquire,"  said  the  other,  "I  have  certain  infor 
mation  that  the  prince  holds  to-day  a  great  tourney, 
and  that  every  knight  and  baron  in  forty  miles 
around  has  gone  to  the  joust.  I  know  not  an  odder 
thing  than  that  all  the  knights  should  be  riding  in 
one  direction  and  all  the  esquires  in  another!" 

"  Two  odd  things  in  one  day  is  good  measure,"  said 
Garin.  "That  is  a  fine  lute  you  have." 

The  thin  dark  person  drew  the  musical  instrument 
in  front  of  him  and  began  to  play,  and  then  to  sing 
in  a  fair-to-middling  voice. 

"In  the  spring  all  hidden  close, 
Lives  many  a  bud  will  be  a  rose. 
In  the  spring  't  is  crescent  morn, 
But  then,  ah  then,  the  man  is  born! 
In  the  spring  't  is  yea  or  nay; 
Then  cometh  Love  makes  gold  of  clay! 
Love  is  the  rose  and  truest  gold, 
Love  is  the  day  and  soldan  bold, 
Love—" 

The  jongleur  yawned  and  ceased  to  sing.  "  Why," 
he  asked  the  air,  "why  should  I  sing  Guy  of  Perpi- 

13 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

gnan's  doggerel  and  give  it  immortality  when  Guy  of 
Perpignan,  turning  on  his  heel,  hath  turned  me  off?" 

He  drew  the  ribbon  over  his  head,  laid  the  lute  on 
the  grass,  and  leaning  back,  closed  his  eyes.  Garin 
gazed  at  the  lute  for  a  moment  then,  dismounting, 
picked  it  up  and  tried  his  hand.  He  sang  a  hunting 
stave,  in  a  better  voice  by  far  than  was  the  jongleur's. 
None  had  ever  told  him  that  he  had  a  nightingale  in 
his  throat. 

The  jongleur  opened  his  eyes.  "Good  squire,  I 
could  teach  you  to  sing  not  so  badly!  But  sing  of 
love  —  sing  of  love !  Hunting  is,  poetically  speaking, 
out  of  court  favour." 

11 1  sing  of  that  which  I  know  of,"  said  Garin. 

The  other  sat  up.  "Have  I  found  the  phoenix? 
Nay,  nay,  I  trow  not !  Love  is  the  theme,  and  I  have 
not  found  a  man  —  no,  not  in  cloister  —  who  could 
not  rhyme  and  carol  and  expound  it!  Love  is  ex 
tremely  in  fashion.  —  Have  you  a  lord?" 

"Aye." 

"Has  not  that  lord  a  lady?" 

"Aye,  so." 

"Then  love  thy  lady,  and  sing  of  it." 

"  I  know,"  said  Garin,  "that  love  is  the  fashion." 

"The  height  of  it,"  answered  the  other.  "It  has 
been  so  now  for  fifty  years  and  there  seems  no  de 
clining.  It  rages." 

Garin  left  his  horse  to  crop  the  sweet  grass  and 
came  and  sat  upon  the  boulder  above  the  jongleur. 
"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "how  it  came  to  be  so.  I  have  a 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

brother,  older  than  me,  who  scoffs  and  saith  that 
women  did  not  use  to  be  of  such  account." 

The  jongleur  took  up  his  lute  again.  "The  trouba 
dour  whom,  until  the  other  day,  I  served,  discusses 
that.  He  is  proud  and  ungrateful,  but  yet  for  your 
edification,  I  will  repeat  what  he  says:  — 

"As  earthly  man  walks  earthly  ways, 
At  times  he  findeth,  God  the  praise! 
Far  leagues  apart,  thousand  no  less, 
Fresh  life,  fresh  light,  that  will  him  bless. 
It  cometh  not  save  he  do  beckon. 
He  groweth  to  it  as  I  reckon. 
And  when  it  comes  the  past  seems  grey, 
And  only  now  the  golden  day. 
Then  in  its  turn  the  golden  day 
Fadeth  before  new  gold  alway. 
And  yet  he  holds  the  ancient  gain, 
And  carryeth  it  with  him  o'er  the  plain. 
And  so  we  fare  and  so  we  grow, 
Wise  men  would  not  have  it  other  so." 

"That  is  a  good  rede,"  said  Garin. 

"It  continueth  thus,"  answered  the  jongleur. 

"In  time  of  old  came  Reason,  King,  — 
111  fares  the  bow  that  lacks  that  string! 
When  time  was  full,  to  give  great  light, 
Came  Jesu's  word  and  churches'  might. 
Then  Knighthood  rose  and  Courtesy, 
And  all  we  mean  by  Chivalry. 
These  had  not  come,  I  rede  you  well, 
Save  that  before  them  rang  a  bell, 
'Turn  you,  and  look  at  Eve  beside, 
Who  with  you  roameth  the  world  wide, 
And  look  no  more  as  hart  on  hind.1 
Now  Love  is  seen  by  those  were  blind. 

15 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Full  day  it  is  of  high  Love's  power. 
Her  sceptre  stands;  it  is  her  hour. 
And  well  I  wis  her  lovely  face 
To  Time  his  reign  will  lend  a  grace!  — 
But  think  ye  not  is  made  the  ring! 
Morn  will  come  a  further  thing." 

The  jongleur  ceased  to  finger  his  lute;  Garin  sat 
silent  on  the  boulder.  The  light,  sifting  through  the 
trees,  chequered  his  olive-green,  close-fitting  dress 
and  his  brown  mantle.  He  sat,  clasping  his  knee, 
his  eyes  with  the  blue  glints  at  once  bright  and 
dreamy. 

"  I  have  read,"  he  said,  "  that  it  is  a  great  thing  to 
be  a  great  lover. " 

"So  all  the  troubadours  say,"  quoth  the  jongleur. 

He  put  the  ribbon  of  the  lute  around  his  neck, 
stretched  himself  and  rose.  "  Miles  still  to  the  town! 
The  day  is  getting  on,  and  I  will  bid  you  adieu." 

Garin,  too,  looked  at  the  sun,  whistled  to  Paladin 
and  left  the  boulder. 

"My  name  is  Elias,"  said  the  jongleur,  " and  I  was 
born  at  Montaudon.  If  you  make  acquaintance  with 
a  rich  baron  who  would  like  to  hear  a  new  tale  or 
song  each  night  for  a  thousand  running,  bear  me  in 
mind.  I  play  harp,  viol  and  lute,  and  so  well  and 
timedly  that  when  they  hear  me,  mourners  leave 
their  weeping  and  fall  to  dancing.  Moreover,  I  know 
how  to  walk  upon  my  hands  and  to  vault  and  tumble, 
and  I  have  a  trick  with  eggs  and  another  with  plat 
ters  in  the  air  that  no  man  or  woman  hath  ever  seen 
into.  I  have  also  a  great  store  of  riddles.  In  addi- 

16 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

tion,  if  need  be,  I  can  back  a  horse  and  thrust  with 
a  spear." 

"I  know  no  such  lord,"  said  Garin  sadly.  "I 
would  I  were  he  myself." 

"Then  perhaps  you  may  meet  with  some  famous 
troubadour.  I  will  serve  none,"  said  Elias,  "who  is 
not  in  some  measure  famous.  I  prefer  that  he  be 
knight  as  well  as  poet.  Be  so  kind  as  to  round  it  in 
such  an  one's  ear  that  you  know  a  famed  jongleur. 
Say  to  him  that  if  God  has  not  given  him  voice 
wherewith  to  sing  or  to  relate  his  chansons,  tensos, 
and  sirventes,  I,  who  sing  like  rossignol  and  who 
learned  narration  in  Tripoli  and  Alexandria,  will  do 
him  at  least  some  justice.  But  if  he  sings  like  ros 
signol  himself  or,  God-like,  speaks  his  own  composi 
tions,  then  say  that  I  am  the  best  accompanist  — 
harp,  lute,  or  viol  —  between  Spain  and  Italy.  Say 
that,  even  though  he  be  armed  so  cap-a-pie,  there 
will  arise  occasions  when  he  is  not  in  voice,  or  is 
weary  or  out  of  spirits.  Then  how  well  to  have  such 
as  I  beside  him !  Then  tell  him  that  I  have  the  com- 
pletest  memory,  that  I  learn  most  quickly  and  nei 
ther  forget  nor  misplace,  and  that  never  do  I  take  a 
liberty  with  my  master's  verse.  When  you  have 
come  that  far,  make  a  pause;  then,  while  he  pon 
ders,  resume.  Say  that,  doubtless,  at  that  moment, 
a  hundred  jongleurs,  scattered  up  and  down  the 
land,  are  chance  learning  and  wrongly  giving  forth 
his  mightiest,  sweetest  poems.  Were  it  not  well  — 
ask  him  —  himself  to  teach  them  to  one  with  mem- 

17 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

ory  and  delivery  beyond  reproach,  who  in  turn 
might  teach  others?  So,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  all 
would  go  as  it  should,  and  he  be  published  correctly. 
Let  that  sink  in.  Then  tell  him  that  I  am  helpful  in 
lesser  ways,  —  silent  when  silence  is  wanted,  always 
discreet,  a  good  bearer  of  letters  and  messages,  quick 
at  extrications,  subtle  as  an  Italian.  Say  that  I  am  a 
good  servant  and  honour  him  who  feeds  me  and 
never  mistake  where  the  salt  stands.  Say  that  I  am 
skilful  beyond  most,  and  earnest  ever  for  the  ad 
vancement  and  honour  of  my  master.  Lastly,  say 
that  I  am  agreeable,  but  not  too  agreeable,  in  the 
eyes  of  women." 

"That  is  necessary?"  asked  Garin. 

"Absolutely,"  answered  the  jongleur.  "Your 
lover  is  as  jealous  as  God.  There  must  not  be  two 
Gods  in  one  miracle  play." 

"Does  every  troubadour,"  asked  Garin,  "love 
greatly?" 

"He  thinks  he  does,"  said  Elias.  " Do  not  forget, 
if  you  meet  a  truly  famed  one,  Elias  of  Montaudon. 
You  may  also  say  that  I  have  been  in  the  company 
of  many  poets,  and  that  I  know  the  secret  soul  of 
Guy  of  Perpignan." 

Both  left  the  boulder  and  stepped  into  the  road. 
Garin  laid  his  hand  on  Paladin's  neck. 

"My  lord  is  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered,"  he  said. 
"His  wife,  my  lady,  is  half-aged  and  evil  to  look 
upon,  and  she  rails  at  every  one  save  Raimbaut, 
whom  she  fears." 

18 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

"That  is  ill-luck,"  said  the  jongleur.  "There  is, 
perhaps,  some  neighbouring  lady  — " 

"No.   Not  one." 

"  To  be  very  courtly, ' '  said  the  jongleur, ' '  one  must 
be  in  love  with  Love.  You  need  not  at  all  see  a 
woman  as  she  is.  It  suffices  if  she  is  young  and  not 
deformed,  and  of  noble  station." 

"She  must  always  be  noble?" 

"It  doth  not  yet  descend  to  shepherdesses,"  said 
the  jongleur.  "For  them  the  antique  way  suffices." 

Garin  mounted  his  horse  and  sat  still  in  saddle, 
his  eyes  upon  a  fair  green  branch  that  the  sun  was 
transfiguring,  making  it  very  lively  and  intense  in 
hue. 

"Great  love,"  he  said.  "  By  the  soul  of  my  father, 
I  think  it  is  a  great  thing!  But  if  there  is  none  set  in 
your  eyes  to  love  — " 

"Can  you  not,"  said  the  jongleur,  like  Lord 
Rudel,  love  one  unseen?" 

Garin  sat  regarding  the  green  branch.  "I  do  not 
know. . .  .We  love  the  unseen  when  we  love  Honour." 
He  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  drew  a  sigh 
and  spoke  as  though  to  himself.  "It  is  with  me 
as  if  all  things  were  between  coming  and  going, 
and  a  half-light,  and  a  fulness  that  presses  and  yet 
knows  not  its  path  where  it  will  go.  I  know  not 
what  I  shall  do,  nor  how  I  shall  carry  life.  Now  I 
feel  afire  and  now  I  am  sad  — "  He  broke  off  and 
looked  beyond  the  green  branch;  then,  before  the 
other  could  speak,  shook  Paladin's  reins  and  moved 

19 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

down  the  leafy  way.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  jongleur.  "  I  will  remember  you." 

"Aye,  remember!"  returned  the  jongleur.  He 
faced  toward  the  town,  put  one  leg  before  the  other, 
and,  going,  swept  his  fingers  across  the  strings  of  his 
lute.  He,  too,  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  called 
across  the  widening  distance.  ''Choose  Love!"  he 
called. 

Garin,  turning  the  corner  of  the  jutty  hill,  lost 
sight  of  him.  The  tinkle  of  the  lute  came  a  moment 
longer,  then  it,  too,  vanished.  The  wind  in  the 
leaves  sighed  and  sighed.  "O  Our  Lady,"  prayed 
Garin,  "give  thy  guidance  to  the  best  man  within 
me!" 

It  was  now  full  afternoon,  the  road  growing  nar 
rower  and  worse,  until  at  last  it  was  a  mere  track. 
It  ran  through  a  forest  large  and  old,  and  it  grew 
quite  lonely.  The  squire  passed  no  one  at  all,  saw 
only  the  great  wood  and  its  inmates  that  were 
four-footed  or  feathered.  He  was  sympathetic  to 
such  life,  and  ordinarily  gave  it  attention  and  found 
in  an  inward  and  disinterested  pleasure  attention's 
reward.  But  to-day  his  mind  was  divided  and 
troubled,  and  he  rode  unseeingly. 

"The  Abbot  and  Holy  Church,"  said  part  of  his 
mind.  "  Raimbaut  and  some  day  knighthood,"  said 
another  part.  "There  is  earthly  power,"  said  the 
first  part,  "for  those  who  serve  Holy  Church  — 
serve  Her  to  Her  profit  and  liking.  Earthly  power 
—  and  in  Heaven,  prelates  still!"  Spoke  the  second 

20 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

part ;  "  Ripe  grapes  of  power  fall,  too,  to  the  warrior's 
hand.  Only  be  tall  enough,  strong  enough  to  pluck 
them  from  the  stoutest  fortress  wall !  Knights  have 
become  barons,  barons  counts,  counts  kings !  —  And 
is  not  a  good  knight  welcome  in  Heaven?  I  trow 
that  he  is,  and  that  the  angels  vie  with  one  another 
to  do  him  honour!" 

It  seemed  to  Garin,  though  it  seemed  dimly 
enough,  that  other  voices  were  trying  to  make  them 
selves  heard.  But  the  first  two  were  the  loud  ones, 
the  distinct  ones.  They  were  the  fully  formed,  the 
sinewy,  the  inherited  concepts. 

He  rode  on.  He  was  now  near  the  end  of  the  forest. 
It  began  to  break  into  grassy  glades.  In  a  little  time 
it  had  so  thinned  that  looking  between  the  tree 
trunks  one  saw  open  country.  Paladin  raised  his 
head,  pricked  his  ears. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Garin.  "Those  yonder  are 
only  sheep  upon  the  hillside." 

The  next  moment  he  heard  a  woman  scream, 
"Help!  Help!" 

He  pricked  Paladin  forward  and  together  they 
burst  into  a  little  open  space,  rounded  by  a  thicket 
and  shadowed  by  oaks.  To  one  of  these  a  horse  was 
tied.  Its  dismounted  rider,  a  young  man,  richly 
dressed,  had  by  the  arms  and  had  forced  to  her 
knees,  a  peasant  girl,  herd,  as  it  seemed,  of  a  few 
sheep  who  might  be  seen  upon  the  hillside  beyond 
the  thicket. 

She  cried  again,  "A  moil  A  moi!"    She  fought 

21 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

like  a  young  tigress,  twisting  her  body  this  way 
and  that,  striving  to  wrench  her  arms  free,  and 
that  failing,  bending  her  face  and  biting.  The 
man  was  big-boned  and  strong,  with  red-gold 
locks,  inclining  to  auburn,  and  face  and  eyes  just 
now  red  and  gleaming.  He  was  young,  —  a  very 
few  years  older  than  Garin,  —  but  his  heel  showed 
a  knight's  spur.  He  bent  the  girl  backward,  struck 
her  a  blow  that  fairly  stunned  her  outcry. 

Garin  burst  into  the  ring.  "Thou  caitiff!  Turn 
and  fight!" 

As  he  spoke  he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  drew  his 
dagger  —  a  long  and  good  one  it  chanced  to  be. 

The  attacker  turned  upon  him  a  face  of  surprise 
and  fury.  ' '  Meddler !  Meddler !  Begone  from  here ! ' ' 
Snatching  from  his  belt  a  small,  silver-mounted 
horn,  he  blew  it  shrilly,  for  he  had  followers  with 
him  whom  he  had  sent  ahead  when  he  came  upon 
the  herd-girl  and  would  stop  for  ill  passion's  sake. 
But  they  had  gone  too  considerable  a  way,  or  the 
wind  blew  against  the  horn,  or  a  hill  came  between. 
Whatever  it  was,  he  summoned  in  vain. 

"  O  thou  coward ! "  cried  Garin.  "  Turn  and  fight ! " 

The  knight  stamped  upon  the  ground.  "Fight 
with  a  page  or  a  squire  at  best!  My  men  shall 
scourge  that  green  coat  from  your  back!  Begone 
with  your  life  — ' ' 

"Now,"  answered  Garin,  "if  you  were  heir  of 
France,  yet  are  you  to  me  churl  and  recreant!" 

Whereupon  the  other  took  his  hands  from  the 

92 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

herd-girl,  drew  his  short  sword,  and  sprang  upon 
him. 

Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered  had  faults  many  and 
heavy,  but  those  about  him  lacked  not  for  instruc 
tion  in  the  art  of  attack  and  defence.  Garin  was 
skilful  to  make  the  difference  not  so  pronounced 
between  that  long  dagger  of  his  and  the  other's 
sword,  and  he  was  as  strong  as  his  opponent,  and  his 
eyes  nothing  like  so  clouded  with  despite  and  fury. 
The  knight  had  far  the  wider  experience,  was  counted 
bold  and  successful.  But  to-day  he  was  at  a  dis 
advantage  ;  he  knew  cold  rages  in  which  he  fought  or 
tilted  well;  but  this  was  a  hot  rage,  and  his  arm 
shook  and  he  struck  wide.  Still  the  summoned  men 
did  not  come,  and  still  the  two  struggled  for  mastery. 
As  for  the  herd-girl  —  she  had  risen  to  her  knees 
and  then  to  her  feet,  and  now  was  standing  be 
neath  a  young  oak,  her  eyes  upon  the  combat.  At 
first  she  had  made  a  move  to  leave  the  place,  and 
then  had  shaken  her  head  and  stayed. 

Garin  gained,  his  antagonist  fighting  now  in  a 
blind  fury.  Presently  the  squire  gave  a  stroke  so 
effective  that  the  blood  spouted  and  the  knight, 
reeling,  let  fall  his  weapon.  He  himself  followed, 
sinking  first  upon  his  knee  and  then  upon  his 
face. 

"Now  have  I  slain  you?"  demanded  Garin,  and 
thrusting  the  sword  aside  with  his  foot,  kneeled  to 
see. 

Whereupon  the  other  turned  swiftly  and  struck 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

upward  with  his  dagger.  The  squire,  jerking  aside, 
went  free  of  the  intended  hurt. 

"Now!  by  the  soul  of  my  father!"  swore  Garin, 
"this  is  a  noble  knight  and  must  be  nobly  dealt 
with!"  And  so  he  took  the  other's  wrists,  forced 
away  the  dagger,  and  wrestling  with  him,  bound  his 
hands  with  his  belt,  then  dragged  him  to  the  nearest 
tree,  and,  cutting  the  bridle  from  his  horse,  ran  the 
leather  beneath  his  arms  and  tied  him  to  the 
trunk.  This  done,  he  took  from  him  the  horn,  and 
stooping,  glanced  at  his  wound.  "  It  will  not  kill  you. 
Live  and  learn  knightliness ! " 

The  other,  bound  to  the  tree,  twisted  and  strove, 
trying  to  free  himself.  His  face  was  no  longer 
flushed  but  pale  from  loss  of  blood  and  huge  anger. 
His  eyes  burned  like  coals  and  he  gnashed  his  teeth. 
He  had  a  hawk  nose,  a  sensuous  mouth,  and  across 
his  cheek  a  long  and  curiously  shaped  scar,  traced 
there  by  a  poignard.  Garin,  gazing  upon  him,  saw 
that  he  promised  to  be  a  mighty  man. 

The  bound  one  spoke,  his  voice  shaking  with 
passion.  "Who  are  you  and  what  is  your  name? 
Who  is  your  lord?  My  father  and  I  will  come,  level 
your  house  with  earth,  flay  you  alive  and  nail  you 
head  downward  to  a  tree  — " 

"  If  you  can,  fair  sir,"  said  Garin.  Stepping  back, 
he  saw  upon  the  earth  the  herd-girl's  distaff  where 
she  had  dropped  it  when  the  knight  came  against 
her.  The  squire  picked  it  up,  came  back  to  the  cap 
tive's  side  and  thrust  it  between  his  tied  hands. 

24 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

"Now,"  he  said,  "let  your  men  find  you  with  no 
sword,  but  with  a  distaff!" 

But  the  herd-girl  moved  at  that  from  beneath  the 
oak.  Garin  found  her  at  his  side,  a  slim,  dark  girl, 
with  torn  dress  and  long,  black,  loosened  hair.  "  You 
are  all  alike!"  she  cried.  "You  would  shame  him 
with  my  distaff!  But  I  tell  you  that  it  is  my  distaff 
that  you  shame! "  With  that  she  came  to  the  bound 
man,  caught  the  distaff  from  between  his  hands,  and 
with  it  burst  through  the  thicket  and  went  again 
among  her  sheep. 

There,  presently,  Garin  found  her,  lying  beneath 
a  green  bank,  her  head  buried  in  her  arms. 

"You  were  right,"  said  Garin,  standing  with 
Paladin  beside  her,  "to  take  your  distaff  away.  I 
am  sorry  that  I  did  that.  —  Now  what  will  you  do? 
He  had  those  with  him  who  will  come  to  seek  him." 

The  girl  stood  up.  "  I  have  been  a  fool,"  she  said, 
succinctly.  "But  there!  we  learn  by  folly."  She 
looked  about  her.  "  Where  will  I  go?  Well,  that  is 
the  question." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

The  herd-girl  seemed  to  regard  the  horizon  from 
west  to  east  and  from  east  to  west.  Then  she  said, 
"  In  a  hut,  two  miles  yonder.  But  his  men  went  that 
way." 

"Then  you  cannot  go  there  now." 

"No.  — Not  now." 

Garin  pondered.  "  It  is  less  than  two  leagues,"  he 
said,  "to  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  I  could 

25 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

take  you  there.  The  good  nuns  will  give  you  shelter 
and  send  you  safe  to-morrow  to  your  people." 

The  herd-girl  seemed  to  consider  it,  then  she 
nodded  her  head.  She  said  something,  but  her  voice 
was  half  lost  in  the  black  torrent  of  her  loosened  hair. 
The  sun's  rays  were  slant  —  it  was  growing  late. 

Garin  mounted  and  drew  her  up  behind  him.  At 
a  little  distance  the  road  forked. 

"They  went  that  way,"  she  said,  pointing. 

"Then  it's  as  well,"  said  Garin,  "that  we  go  this. 
Now  we  had  best  ride  fast  for  a  time." 

They  rode  fast  for  a  good  long  way;  then,  as  no 
hoof-sound  or  cry  came  from  behind,  the  squire 
checked  Paladin,  and  they  went  slowly  enough  to 
talk. 

"I  have  hopes,"  said  Garin,  "that  he  swooned, 
and  when  they  found  him  could  tell  them  naught. 
Do  you  know  his  name?" 

"No.    I  was  asleep  in  the  sun." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Jael." 

"The  nuns  will  care  for  you." 

"I  will  ask  them  to  let  me  stay  and  keep  their 
sheep." 

They  rode  on  through  a  fair,  smiling  country. 
Garin  fell  silent  and  the  herd-girl  was  not  talkative. 
He  could  not  but  ride  wondering  about  that  knight 
back  there,  and  who  he  might  be  and  how  powerful. 
He  saw  that  it  was  possible  that  he  had  provided  a 
hornet's  nest  for  the  ears  of  Castel-Noir  and  Foulque. 

26 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

He  drew  a  sigh,  half -frighted  and  half -proud  of  a 
proved  prowess. 

The  girl  behind  him  moved  slightly.  "I  had  for 
got  to  say  it,"  she  murmured.  "I  will  say  it  now. 
Fair  sir,  I  am  humbly  grateful  — " 

Garin  had  a  great  idiosyncrasy.  He  disliked  to  be 
thanked.  " I  liked  that  fighting,"  he  said.  "It  was 
no  sacrifice.  That  is,"  he  thought,  "it  will  not  be  if 
he  never  find  out  my  name." 

Paladin  carried  them  a  way  farther.  Said  Garin, 
remembering  chivalry,  "It  is  man's  part  to  protect 
the  weaker  being,  that  is  woman." 

"It  puzzles  so!"  said  the  herd-girl.  "I  am  not 
very  weak.  Is  it  man's  part,  too,  to  lay  hands  upon 
a  woman  against  her  will?  If  man  did  not  that,  then 
man  need  not  do,  at  such  cost,  the  other.  What 
credit  to  put  water  on  the  house  you  yourself  set 
afire?" 

"Now  by  Our  Lady,"  said  Garin,  "you  are  a 
strange  herd-girl ! "  He  twisted  in  the  saddle  so  that 
he  might  look  at  her.  She  sat  still,  —  young,  slim 
and  forlorn  to  the  eye,  dark  as  a  berry,  her  feet  bare 
and  her  dress  so  torn  that  her  limbs  showed.  Her 
long,  black  loosened  hair  almost  hid  her  face,  which 
seemed  thin,  with  irregular  features.  She  had  her 
distaff  still,  the  forlorn  serf's  daughter,  herself  a  serf . 

"  If  we  plume  ourselves  it  is  a  mistake,  and  foolish 
ness,  "  said  Garin.  "But  yet  though  one  man  act 
villainously,  another  may  act  well." 

"Just,"  said  the  herd-girl.  "And  I  thank  the  one 

27 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

who  has  acted  well  —  but  not  all  men.    I  thank  a 
man,  but  not  mankind." 

11  How  old  are  you?" 

"I  am  eighteen." 

"Where  got  you  your  thoughts?" 

"There  is  time  and  need  for  thinking,"  said  the 
herd-girl,  "when  you  keep  sheep." 

With  that  she  sighed  and  fell  silent.  They  were 
going  now  by  a  swift  stream;  when,  presently,  they 
came  to  the  ford  and  crossed,  they  were  upon  con 
vent  lands.  Our  Lady  in  Egypt  was  a  Cistercian 
convent,  ample  and  rich,  and  her  grey-clad  nuns 
came  from  noble  houses.  There  were  humbly  born 
lay  sisters.  The  abbess  was  the  sister  of  a  prince. 
The  place  had  wealth,  and  being  of  the  order  of 
Saint  Bernard,  then  in  its  first  strength,  was  like  a 
hive  for  work.  From  the  ford  on,  the  road  was 
mended,  the  fields  fat,  the  hedges  trim.  The  convent 
had  its  serfs,  and  the  huts  of  these  people  were  not 
miserable,  nor  did  the  people  themselves  look  hunger- 
stricken  and  woe-begone.  The  hillsides  smiled  with 
vineyards,  the  sky  arched  all  with  an  Egyptian  blue, 
the  westering  sun,  tempering  his  fierceness,  looked 
benignly  on.  Presently,  in  a  vale  beside  the  stream, 
they  saw  the  great  place,  set  four-square,  a  tiny 
hamlet  clinging  like  an  infant  to  its  skirts.  Behind, 
covering  a  pleasant  slope,  were  olive  groves  with 
tall  cypresses  mounting  like  spires.  Grey  sisters 
worked  among  the  grey  trees.  A  bell  rang  slowly, 
with  a  silver  tone. 

28 


THE  JONGLEUR  AND  THE  HERD-GIRL 

"  I  will  take  you  to  the  gate,"  said  Garin.  "Then 
you  can  knock  and  the  sister  will  let  you  in." 

"Aye,  that  will  she.  And  you,  fair  squire,  where 
will  you  go?  Where  is  your  home?" 

Now  Garin  was  thinking,  "If  that  knight  is  a 
powerful  man  it  is  well  that  I  gave  him  no  inkling  of 
where  to  find  me!"  Assuredly  he  had  no  thought 
nor  fear  that  the  herd-girl  might  betray.  And  yet  he 
did  not  say,  "  I  was  born  at  Castel-Noir,  "  or  "  I  live 
now  in  the  castle  of  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered." 
He  said,  "  I  dwell  by  the  sea,  a  long  way  from  here." 

"Dusk  is  at  hand,"  said  the  herd-girl.  "There, 
among  those  houses,  is  one  set  apart  for  benighted 
travellers." 

"How  do  you  know  that?  Have  you  been  here 
before?" 

"Aye,  once.  —  If  you  have  far  to  ride,  or  the  way 
is  not  clear  before  you,  you  had  best  rest  to-night 
in  the  traveller's  house." 

But  Garin  shook  his  head.    "  I  will  go  on." 

With  that  they  came,  just  before  the  sun  went 
down,  to  the  wall  of  the  convent,  and  the  door  be 
neath  a  round  arch  where  the  needy  applied  for 
shelter  or  relief.  The  squire  checked  Paladin.  He 
made  a  motion  to  dismount,  but  the  girl  put  a  brown 
hand  upon  his  knee. 

"Stay,"  she  said,  "where  you  are!  I  will  ring  the 
bell  and  speak  to  the  portress."  So  saying,  she 
slipped  to  the  earth  like  brown  running  water ;  then 
turned  and  spoke  to  the  rescuer.  "Fair  squire,"  she 

29 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

said,  "take  again  my  thanks.  If  ever  I  can  pay  good 
turn  with  good  turn,  be  sure  that  I  will  do  it!"  She 
moved  within  the  arch,  put  her  hand  to  the  bell  and 
set  it  jangling,  then  again  turned  her  head.  "Will 
you  remove  from  so  close  before  the  door?  You  will 
frighten  the  sister.  And  the  sun  is  down  and  you 
had  best  be  going.  Farewell!" 

Involuntarily  Garin  backed  Paladin  further  from 
the  round  arch.  The  horse  was  eager  for  his  stable, 
wheeled  in  that  direction,  and  chafed  at  the  yet  re 
straining  hand.  Garin  looked  as  in  a  dream  at  the 
herd-girl.  Even  now  he  could  not  see  her  face  for 
that  streaming  hair.  A  grating  in  the  convent  door 
opened  and  the  sister  who  was  portress  looked  forth. 
The  herd-girl  spoke,  but  he  could  not  hear  what  was 
the  word  she  said.  A  key  grated,  the  convent  door 
swung  open.  "Lord  God ! "  cried  the  grey  sister.  He 
heard  that,  and  had  a  glimpse  of  her  standing  with 
lifted  hands.  The  herd-girl  crossed  the  threshold. 
Paladin,  insisting  upon  the  road,  took  for  a  moment 
the  squire's  full  attention.  When  he  looked  back  the 
convent  wall  was  blank ;  door  and  grating  alike  were 
closed. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  NIGHTINGALE 

FOULQUE  the  Cripple  listened  with  a  perturbed  brow. 
"You  should  have  left  him  alone!  A  wretched  herd- 
girl!" 

"If  I  am  to  be  knight,"  said  Garin  hotly,  "I 
will  not  read  knighthood  so." 

' '  Psha ! ' '  said  Foulque.  ' '  They  put  resistance  on ! 
It  is  a  mask  when  they  seem  unwilling.  And  if  it 
were  real,  what  then?  —  Saint  Pol,  what  then?  — 
And  you  saw  naught  to  tell  you  who  he  was?" 

"No." 

Foulque  fretted.  "If  I  had  been  there,  I  should 
have  found  some  colour  or  sign!  But  you  go  as 
dreamily  as  if  you  were  bewitched !  You  see  naught 
that's  to  the  point." 

"He  had  a  blue  robe  and  a  surcoat  of  crimson,  and 
shoes  of  brown  cordovan,"  said  Garin.  "His  sword 
had  a  rich  hilt,  and  his  gloves  were  embroidered.  I 
noted  them  where  he  had  thrust  them  in  the  bosom 
of  his  robe  when  I  knelt  to  look  at  his  wound.  He 
was  red-gold  of  hair  and  hawk  nosed,  full-lipped, 
and  with  a  scar  on  his  cheek.  I  think  that  he  is  older 
than  I,  but  not  much  older." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Foulque,  "he  may  have  been 
some  wanderer  from  a  distance,  with  no  recourse  but 


THE   FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

his  own  hand.  Moreover,  for  fame's  sake,  he  will  not 
be  quick  to  talk  about  a  younger  man,  and  one  of  less 
degree.  If  he  found  out  neither  your  name  nor  house, 

—  perhaps  we'll  hear  no  more  of  it.  ...  Well,  what 
have  you  to  say?   I  have  news  for  you!  The  abbot 
hath  been  to  Roche-de-Frene,  and  on  his  way  home 
is  pleased  to  sleep  one  night  at  Castel-Noir.   A  man 
of  his  brought  notice  this  morning.  This  is  Tuesday 

—  Friday  he  will  be  here."  Foulque  rose  and  limped 
across  the  hall  in  some  excitement.   "Poor  and  bare, 
God  knows!  is  Castel-Noir,  but  we  will  do  what  we 
can !  My  bed  here  he  shall  have,  and  we  will  put  up 
the  hangings  from  Genoa,  and  strew  the  floor  with 
fair  herbs.    There's  wine  enough,  and  Pierre  shall 
begin  his  baking  to-morrow  morn !    Friday.  —  He 
will  have,  his  man  said,  twenty  in  his  train.    The 
sub-prior  —  five  or  six  brothers  —  the  rest  stout 
serfs  with  staves.  —  Friday!  —  Every  man  of  ours 
must  be  set  to  fishing!" 

When  every  man  was  sent  to  the  stream,  the  com 
pany  of  fishermen  covered  no  great  length  of  bank. 
Moreover  all  could  not  settle  to  fishing,  for  some 
must  forth  to  forage  for  the  approaching  horse,  and 
to  find  venison,  fowls,  and  other  matters  for  the 
Saturday  morn.  For  poor  was  the  small  black  tower 
in  the  black  wood !  Foulque  could  furnish  to  his  lord 
a  young  brother  for  esquire,  and,  if  a  levy  were  made, 
ten  men,  by  no  means  prize  men,  with  ten  horses,  by 
no  means  horses  for  a  king's  stable.  Paladin  was  the 
only  horse  of  that  nature.  A  poor,  small  fief  was 

32 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

Castel-Noir  —  black  keep  and  tower  on  a  crag,  set 
in  a  dark  wood,  with  a  few  fields  beyond,  and  all 
under  shadow  of  the  mountains  to  the  north.  South 
of  it,  only,  ran  the  bright  stream  where  fish  were  to 
be  caught. 

Thursday  sunrise,  Garin  took  a  fishing-rod  and 
went  down  the  crag  by  the  road  cut,  long  since,  in 
the  rock,  and  through  the  wood  to  this  stream.  In  a 
great  leather  pouch  slung  over  his  shoulder  he  had, 
with  other  matters,  bread  and  meat.  He  meant  to 
make  a  day  of  it,  bringing  home  in  the  evening  good 
fish  for  Pierre's  larder.  When  he  reached  the  stream, 
he  found  there  old  Jean  and  his  two  grandsons  and 
they  had  a  great  basket,  its  bottom  already  flashing 
silver  and  iris. 

"  Good- morning,  Jean  and  Pol  and  Arnaut,"  said 
Garin. 

"Good-morning,  master!  The  Blessed  Maries 
have  sent  good  fishing!  They  snap  as  soon  as  you 
touch  the  water." 

Farther  down  the  stream  he  found  Sicart.  "How 
great  a  man,  master,  is  the  abbot?  Very  great  he 
must  be  if  he  eats  all  the  fish  we  are  taking!  It  is  a 
miracle!" 

Garin  moved  down  the  stream  seeking  for  a  place 
that  should  seize  his  fancy.  The  eagerness  with 
which  he  had  risen  and  sallied  forth  disappeared. 
They  would  have  enough  for  the  Abbot  and  his  train 
—  more  than  enough.  At  times  he  cared  for  fishing, 
but  not,  he  found,  to-day.  Why  then  fish,  if  there 

33 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

was  no  need?  He  still  carried  the  rod,  but  he  con 
tinued  to  walk,  making  no  motion  to  stop  and  put  it 
into  use.  There  was  a  foot-path  by  the  stream,  and 
it  and  the  gliding  water  led  him  on.  He  wanted  to 
think,  or,  more  truly,  to  dream.  Back  in  the  black 
castle  all  was  topsy-turvy,  and  Foulque  concerned 
only  with  family  fortunes. 

Now  Garin  walked,  and  now  he  leaned  against 
some  tree  and  gazed  at  the  flowing  water ;  but  on  the 
whole  he  moved  forward  with  such  steadiness  that 
before  the  sun  was  much  above  the  tree-tops  the 
foot-path  ceased,  having  brought  him  to  a  great 
round  stone  and  an  overhanging  pine,  and  the  end, 
on  this  side,  of  the  fief  of  Castel-Noir.  Beyond  came 
a  strip  of  stony  and  unprofitable  land,  a  debated 
possession,  claimed  by  two  barons  and  of  no  espe 
cial  use  to  any  man.  Garin  threw  himself  down  upon 
the  boundary  stone  and,  chin  in  hand,  regarded  the 
sliding  stream. 

It  was  this  stone,  perhaps,  that  brought  into  mind 
Tuesday's  boulder  and  the  jongleur.  Rather  than 
the  jongleur  came  the  figure  of  the  jongleur's  lute. 
Garin's  fingers  moved  as  though  they  felt  beneath 
them  the  strings.  A  verse  was  running,  running 
through  his  head.  Only  after  a  slow,  lilting,  inward 
saying  of  it  over  twice  or  thrice  did  it  come  to  him, 
like  the  opening  of  a  flower,  that  it  was  his  own,  not 
another's.  He  had  made  it,  lying  there.  He  rose 
from  the  stone  and  walked  forward,  still  going  with 
the  gliding  stream.  As  he  walked,  the  second  verse 

54 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

came  to  him.  He  said  over  the  two,  said  over  his 
first  poem  and  said  it  over  again,  tasting  it,  savour 
ing  it,  hearing  it  now  with  music.  He  was  in  a  dream 
of  dawn.  .  .  . 

There  was  no  longer  a  path,  but  he  went  on  over 
the  stony  soil,  beneath  old  gnarled  and  stunted 
trees.  The  sun  rode  high  and  made  the  water  a  flood 
of  diamonds.  Garin  walked  with  a  light  and  rapid 
step.  When  a  tree  came  in  his  way  he  swerved  and 
rounded  it  and  went  on,  but  he  was  hardly  conscious 
that  it  had  been  there.  The  fishing-rod  was  yet  in 
his  hand,  but  he  did  not  think  of  the  rod,  nor  of 
fishing,  nor  of  Castel-Noir,  nor  Foulque,  nor  the 
abbot,  nor  of  the  decision  which  the  abbot's  visit 
would  force.  He  hardly  knew  of  what  he  was  think 
ing.  It  was  diffused,  —  the  world  was  diffused,  — 
drifting  and  swinging,  and  in  the  mist  he  touched  a 
new  power. 

A  hawk  shot  downwards,  plunged  beak  in  water, 
rose  with  the  taken  fish  and  soared  into  the  eye  of 
day.  Garin  started,  shook  himself,  and  looked 
about  him.  He  had  come  farther  than  he  meant.  He 
half- turned,  then  stood  irresolute,  then  again  faced 
downstream.  The  day  was  not  old,  and  a  distaste 
seized  him  for  going  back  and  listening  to  Foulque 
on  what  the  abbot  might  or  might  not  do.  He  wan 
dered  on. 

An  hour  later  he  came  upon  another  boundary 
mark.  This  was  a  cross  cut  in  stone,  with  a  rude 
carving  upon  the  block  that  formed  the  base.  Garin 

35 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

sat  down  to  rest,  and  sitting  so,  fell  to  scraping  with 
his  knife  the  encrusting  lichen  from  this  carving. 
There  was  a  palm  tree  and  a  pyramid,  which  stamped 
Egypt  in  mind.  Here  was  Saint  Joseph,  and  here 
was  the  ass  bearing  the  Mother  and  Child.  Above 
was  Latin,  to  the  effect  that  you  were  upon  the  lands 
of  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  Garin  knew 
that,  and  that  two  miles  down  the  stream  the  nuns 
would  be  now  at  the  noon  office.  He  wondered  if, 
yesterday  or  to-day,  they  had  sent  Jael  the  herd 
back  to  her  own.  But,  on  the  surface,  at  least,  of 
consciousness  there  floated  no  long  thought  of  that 
matter.  His  mood  was  one  of  half-melancholy,  half- 
exaltation,  all  threaded  with  the  warm  wonder  of 
making  verses. 

The  nature  of  the  land  changed  here.  For  stone 
and  dwarfed  growth  there  began  a  richer  soil  and 
nobler  trees.  The  latter  made,  all  along  the  water's 
edge,  a  narrow  grove,  with  here  and  there  a  fairy 
opening  and  lawn  of  fine  grass.  Garin,  having 
scraped  away  the  lichen,  looked  at  the  sun,  which 
was  now  past  the  meridian,  and  thought  that  he 
would  retrace  his  steps. 

Before  him,  out  of  a  covert  a  little  way  down  the 
stream,  a  nightingale  sang  suddenly.  Garin  listened, 
and  it  might  be  his  mood  of  to-day  that  made  him 
think  that  never  before  had  he  heard  any  bird  sing 
so  sweetly.  It  carolled  on,  rich  and  deep,  and  the 
young  man  went  toward  it.  The  ribbon  of  wood  was 
dark  and  sweet;  the  bird  sang  like  a  soul  imprisoned. 

36 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

When  it  silenced  itself  Garin  still  stood  looking  up 
into  its  tree.  Presently  it  flew  from  that  bower  and, 
crossing  one  of  the  elfin  lawns,  lost  itself  in  the 
farther  trees.  Garin  went  on  to  this  grove  and  it 
sang  for  him  again.  When  it  ceased  he  did  not  go 
back  to  the  boundary  stone.  This  country  pleased 
him  and  he  thought,  "  I  will  go  on  and  see  how  Our 
Lady  in  Egypt  looks  from  this  side." 

He  followed  the  stream  a  mile  and  more.  It  was 
slipping  now  beneath  mighty  trees.  Their  arching 
boughs  made  a  roof ;  it  was  like  walking  in  cloisters. 
Between  the  pillars,  inland,  could  be  seen  fields  and 
vineyards  and,  at  last,  the  convent's  self,  with  her 
olive  trees  behind  her.  Garin  came  now  to  thickly 
planted  laurels,  a  grove  within  a  grove.  This  he 
threaded,  pushing  aside  the  heavy  leaves.  The 
laurels  ended  suddenly,  standing  close  and  trim,  a 
high  green  wall.  This  followed  a  curving  line  and 
half  enclosed  a  goodly  space  of  turf,  a  shaven  floor  of 
emerald,  laved  by  the  little  river  and  shaded  by  a 
plane,  a  poplar,  and  a  cedar.  The  cedar  stood  close 
to  the  laurels  and  close  to  Garin,  and  beneath  the 
cedar  was  placed  a  seat  of  stone  carved  like  a  great 
chair.  The  spot  was  all  chequered  with  light  and 
shade,  the  air  was  sweet  and  fine,  and  the  water  sang 
as  it  passed.  A  fairer  place  for  dreaming,  for  talk  or 
sober  merry-making,  might  not  be  found.  Just  now 
it  was  as  clean  as  fairyland  of  human  occupancy. 

Garin  stepped  from  the  laurel  wall  and  sat  in  the 
stone  seat.  It  pleased  him,  this  place!  A  sense  of 

37 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

mystery  gathered;  he  began  to  dream,  dream.  All 
manner  of  coloured,  gleaming  thought-motes  danced 
over  the  threshold.  The  minutes  passed. 

Voices  —  women's  voices!  Doubly  a  trespasser 
that  he  was,  he  was  not  willing  to  be  found  here, 
reigning  it  from  this  seat  over  the  sweep  of  lawn,  the 
three  trees,  and  the  singing  water.  He  rose,  and 
stepped  back  into  the  wall  of  laurel;  then,  being 
young  and  not  incurious,  waited  to  see  who  it  was 
that  was  coming.  Lay  sisters,  perhaps,  going  from 
vineyard  to  vineyard,  or  bringing  clothes  for  the 
washing  to  the  river  bank  which  here  was  rightly 
shelving.  A  gleam  of  grey  garments  between  the 
tree-trunks  on  the  other  side  of  the  sylvan  theatre 
seemed  to  prove  him  right ;  and  indeed,  in  a  moment, 
there  did  emerge  three  or  four  of  these  same  lay 
sisters  —  strong,  tanned,  peasant  women,  roughly 
dressed,  fit  for  outdoor  labour.  They  carried  on 
their  heads  huge  osier  baskets,  but  when  they  set 
these  down,  what  was  taken  out  was  not  linen  or 
woollen  for  washing,  but  rugs  of  Eastern  weave  and 
cushions  of  Eastern  make. 

Moreover,  with  or  following  the  lay  sisters  came 
others  —  young  women  —  who  were  certainly  not 
under  convent  rule.  These  seized  the  rugs  and 
cushions  and  scattered  them  here  and  there,  to 
advantage,  over  the  grass.  They  also  set  out  dishes 
of  fruit  and  Eastern  comfits,  and  one  placed  a  harp 
upon  a  square  of  gold  silk  which  she  spread  beneath 
the  poplar.  As  they  worked  they  chattered  like 

38 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

magpies.  They  were  dressed  well  and  fancifully  but 
not  richly;  it  was  to  be  made  out  that  they  were 
waiting-women  of  those  who  did  dress  richly.  One 
cocked  her  ear,  then  raised  her  hand  in  a  gesture  to 
the  others,  whereupon  all  fell  into  a  demure  silence. 
The  lay  sisters  who  had  been  stolid  and  still  through 
out,  now  drew  off  by  a  path  which  carried  them 
to  the  vineyards.  The  waiting  women  cast  a  look 
around,  then,  with  nods  of  satisfaction,  picked  up 
the  empty  baskets  and  found  for  them  and  for  them 
selves  some  pleasant  subordinate  haven  down  by 
the  stream,  around  the  corner  of  the  lawn. 

The  little  lawn  lay  prepared,  festive  and  a  desert. 
Now  was  the  moment  when  Garin  might  withdraw 
and  the  rustle  of  the  laurel  leaves  tell  no  tale  where 
were  no  ears  to  hear.  Truly,  he  thought  once  and 
twice  of  departing,  but  then  before  the  third 
thought  which  might  have  passed  into  action,  he 
caught,  floating  out  of  the  opposite  wood,  delightful 
voices,  laughter  that  rippled,  and  a  sheen  and  flash 
of  colours.  What  he  forthwith  determined  to  do 
was  to  please  a  little  longer  eye  and  ear  and  sate 
curiosity.  Then  —  and  it  need  not  be  long  —  he 
would  turn,  and  as  noiselessly  as  an  innocent  green- 
and-brown  serpent,  slip  away  toward  Castel-Noir. 
Given  that  he  were  discovered,  plain  truth-telling 
were  not  bad.  Discovery  might  bring  him  rebuke 
not  too  scornful,  with,  perhaps,  some  laughter  in  her 
eye. 

He  laid  his  fishing-rod  down,  then  knelt  beside  it 

39 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

upon  the  brown  earth  between  the  laurel  stems. 
Couched  so,  he  could  look  past  the  stone  seat  and 
the  cedar  trunk,  and  so  observe  what  pageant  might 
appear.  Had  he  had  a  wand  in  his  hand  he  could 
have  touched  with  it  this  carven  chair. 

Out  from  the  shadowy  opposite  grove  came  bright 
ladies,  seven  or  eight.  One  was  dressed  in  violet  and 
one  in  rose,  one  in  green  and  white,  and  one  in 
daffodil,  one  in  a  bright  medley,  one  in  white  sprigged 
with  gold,  and  one  in  the  colour  of  the  sky.  After 
the  fashion  of  the  time  their  hair  hung  in  long  braids 
from  beneath  fillet,  or  garland,  or  veil  of  gauze 
twisted  turban-wise  or  floating  loose.  Their  shoes 
were  of  soft-coloured  leather  or  of  silk,  their  dress 
close-fitting  and  sweeping  the  grass.  The  wide  and 
long  mantles  that  were  worn  by  both  sexes  were  not 
in  evidence  here  —  the  day  was  warm  and  the  con 
vent,  whence  alone  these  fair  ones  could  have  come, 
at  no  distance.  Garin  wondered,  and  then  he  be 
thought  himself  that  some  great  reigning  countess 
—  perhaps  some  duchess  or  princess  of  Italy  or  Spain 
or  further  yet  afield,  perhaps  some  queen  —  might 
be  travelling  through  the  land,  going  from  one  court 
to  another  and  by  the  way  pausing  to  refresh  her 
self  in  the  house  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  From  Roche- 
de-Fr6ne,  he  knew,  there  was  no  such  absence.  The 
man-at-arms  at  the  inn  had  said  that  the  princesses 
Alazais  and  Audiart  were  seated  with  their  ladies  to 
mark  the  jousts.  .  .  .  He  lay  and  watched. 

Of  the  bright  apparitions  two  seemed  of  their 

40 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

full  summer  and  prime,  more  stately,  more  authori 
tative  than  the  others.  The  others  were  in  their 
spring  and  early  spring.  Light  or  dark,  blonde  or 
brunette,  all  had  beauty.  Garin's  eyes  darkened 
and  softened,  and  the  corners  of  his  lips  moved  up 
ward  to  see  such  an  array,  and  the  swimming  move 
ment  with  which  they  dispersed  themselves  over  the 
lawn,  and  to  hear  their  trained  voices.  All  seemed 
gay  and  laughing,  and  yet  there  presently  appeared 
a  discontent.  The  dame  in  daffodil  took  up  the  harp 
and  swept  the  strings. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  one  in  azure,  "for  a  true  trouba 
dour!" 

"For  even  a  jongleur!" 

"Ah,  what  is  life  without  men!" 

"Ah,  for  the  tourney!" 

"Ah,  if  there  were  in  sight  but  a  monastery!" 

The  older  two,  who  had  an  air  of  responsibility, 
rebuked  the  others.  "Life  is  made  up  of  to  and  fro, 
and  sounds  and  silences !  Be  content!  It  is  but  one 
month  out  of  many." 

"As  if  months  were  as  plentiful  as  cherries!" 

"Ah,  if  I  were  a  princess  — " 

"Hush!"  warned  the  daffodil-clad,  and  began  to 
play  upon  the  harp. 

Garin  saw  that  another  two  were  coming  through 
the  grove.  One  of  these  would  be  the  noble  lady  for 
whom  it  was  all  planned.  His  imagination  was  ac 
tive  to-day  with  a  deep,  involuntary  pulsing.  Foix 
or  Toulouse,  or  the  greater  domains  to  the  north  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

west,  or  it  might  be  Aragon,  or  it  might  be  Italy? 
Or  she  might  have  come  from  Sicily,  or  like  Prince 
Rudel' s  far  lady,  from  a  kingdom  or  duchy  carved 
from  Paynim  lands.  Some  Eastern  touch  in  the 
scene  made  him  dwell  upon  that.  No  matter  whence 
now  she  came,  she  must  have  lived  on  a  day  in  the 
long,  the  outspread,  the  curving  and  sunny  lands  of 
this  very  south.  The  tongue  of  her  ladies  proved 
that.  Wedded  she  might  have  been  to  some  great 
prince  and  borne  away,  and  now  returned  for  a  time 
and  a  pilgrimage  to  the  land  of  birth.  .  .  .  All  this 
and  more  was  of  his  imaging.  He  lay  upon  the  dark 
earth  and  parted  the  laurel  leaves  that  he  might  see 
more  clearly. 

The  two  were  now  plain  among  the  trees.  One 
was  a  blonde  of  much  beauty,  dressed  in  grey  cendal 
and  carrying  a  book  which  seemed  to  belong  to  her 
companion.  The  latter  was  a  little  in  advance,  and 
she  came  on  without  speaking,  and  so  stepped  from 
the  wood  upon  the  lawn.  The  seven  already  arrived 
beneath  the  plane,  the  poplar,  and  the  cedar  made  a 
formal  movement  of  courtesy,  then  gathered  like  a 
rainbow  about  the  one  of  first  importance.  Plain- 
tiveness  and  discontent  retired  from  evidence,  court 
habit  came  up  paramount.  You  might  have  thought 
that  these  were  dryads  or  Dian's  nymphs,  and  no 
other  spot  than  this  wood  their  loved  home!  There 
came  to  Garin's  ear  a  ripple  of  sweet  voices,  but  it 
seemed  that  their  lady  for  whom  had  been  spread 
the  feast  was  either  silent  or  seldom-  and  low-speak- 

4* 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

ing.  She  stood  beneath  the  shimmering,  tremulous 
poplar,  a  slender  shape  of  fair  height.  She  was 
dressed  in  some  fine  weave  of  dark  blue  with  a  girdle 
of  samite  studded  with  gems.  The  ends  of  this  girdle 
hung  to  her  silken  shoe.  Her  hair,  black  and  long, 
was  braided  with  gems.  She  seemed  young,  young 
as  the  youngest  there.  "Seemed"  is  used,  because 
Garin  saw  not  her  face.  She  wore,  as  did  several  of 
the  others,  a  veil  of  Eastern  device,  but  hers  was  long 
and  wide  and  threaded  with  gold  and  silver,  and  so 
worn  that  it  overhung  and  shielded  every  feature. 
Attention  was  called  to  the  placing  of  the  rugs, 
the  cushions,  the  harp,  the  dishes  of  fruit  and  com 
fits.  The  one  for  whom  they  had  waited  nodded  her 
head  and  seemed  to  approve.  She  was  not  garrulous ; 
there  seemed  to  breathe  about  her,  he  knew  not 
what,  a  tone  of  difference.  All  now  moved  to  the 
water-edge,  and  for  a  time  loitered  there  upon  the 
green  and  rushy  bank.  One  raised  her  voice  and 
sang,  — 

"Green  are  the  boughs  when  lovers  meet, 
Grey  when  they  part  —  " 

The  bevy  turned  and  came  up  the  sloping  lawn  to 
the  three  trees  and  the  cushions  upon  the  grass.  The 
shape  in  dark  blue  with  the  Eastern  veil  moved  be 
yond  them  to  the  cedar  and  the  stone  chair.  Here 
she  took  her  seat,  and  when  the  others  would  have 
gathered  about  her  waved  them  back  with  a  slender, 
long-fingered  hand.  One  brought  to  her  a  basket  of 
grapes.  She  chose  a  purple  cluster  resting  upon  a 

43 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

web  of  vine  leaves  but  laid  it  untouched  beside  her 
upon  the  wide  seat.  There  was  a  space  between  her 
and  the  dark  enshadowing  cedar  and  those  others 
resting  now  upon  the  cushions.  She  sat  quite  still,  a 
hand  upon  each  arm  of  the  chair,  the  deep  blue  of 
her  dress  flowing  about  her,  the  gems  of  the  girdle 
ends  making  a  sombre  gleaming.  The  veil  hid  all  her 
face  from  Garin,  lying  so  near.  He  felt  in  her  some 
thing  solitary,  something  powerful,  yet  felt  that  she 
was  young,  young —  She  sat  with  her  gaze  straight 
before  her  upon  the  blue  crests  that  showed  afar. 
She  sat  as  still  as  though  an  enchanter  had  bid  her 
stay.  And  between  her  and  the  young  man  crouch 
ing  in  the  laurels  streamed  no  wide  ocean  of  the 
autumn  air,  of  the  subtle  ether.  The  moments 
passed,  slow,  plangent,  like  the  notes  of  the  harp 
that  was  being  played.  .  .  . 

What  happened  to  one  or  both  ?  Did  one  only  feel 
it,  the  one  that  knew  there  were  two  —  or  did,  in 
some  degree,  the  other  also,  and  think  it  was  a  day 
dream?  All  that  Garin  knew,  kneeling  there,  was 
that  something  touched  him,  entered  him.  It  came 
across  that  space,  or  it  came  from  some  background 
and  space  not  perceived.  It  was  measureless,  or  it 
seemed  to  him  without  measure.  It  was  clothed  in 
marvel ;  it  was  fulness  and  redoubling,  it  was  more 
life.  It  was  as  loud  as  thunder,  and  as  still  as  the 
stillest  inner  whisper.  It  was  so  sweet  that  he 
wished  to  weep,  and  yet  he  wished  too  to  leap  and 
spring  and  exult  aloud,  to  send  his  cry  of  posses- 

44 


THE  NIGHTINGALE 

sion  to  the  skies.  He  felt  akin  to  all  that  his  senses 
touched.  But  as  for  the  form  in  the  stone  chair  — 
he  sat  with  her  there,  she  knelt  with  him  here,  they 
were  one  body.  .  .  .  With  a  swimming  feeling,  her 
being  seemed  to  pass  from  his.  He  knelt  here,  Garin 
of  the  Black  Castle,  squire  of  Raimbaut  the  Six- 
fingered,  and  she  sat  there  whose  face  he  had  not 
seen  —  a  great  dame,  lady  doubtless  of  some  lord 
of  a  hundred  barons  each  worthier  than  Raimbaut. 

Garin  gazed  across  the  little  space  between,  and 
now  it  was  as  though  it  were  half  the  firmament. 
She  sat  like  a  figure  among  the  stars,  blue-robed, 
amid  the  deep  blue,  and  the  cloudy  world  was  be 
tween  them.  She  grew  like  to  a  goddess  —  like  to 
the  Unattainable  Ideal,  and  he  felt  no  longer  like 
a  king,  but  like  the  acolyte  that  lights  the  lamp  and 
kneels  as  he  places  it.  Now  it  was  the  Age  for  this  to 
happen,  and  for  one  man  to  act  as  had  acted  that 
knight  in  the  wood  toward  Roche-de-Frene,  and  for 
another  to  do  as  now  did  Garin. 

For  now  he  wished  no  longer  to  play  the  spy,  and 
he  turned  very  carefully  and  silently  in  the  laurels 
and  crept  away.  In  all  his  movements  he  was  lithe 
and  clean,  and  he  made  no  sound  that  the  brooding 
young  figure  in  the  stone  chair  attended  to.  Pres 
ently,  looking  back,  his  eyes  saw  only  the  great 
height  of  the  cedar,  its  dark  head  against  the  blue 
heaven.  The  liquid,  dropping  notes  of  the  harp  pur 
sued  him  a  little  farther,  but  when  he  was  forth  from 
the  laurel  grove  they,  too,  passed  upon  the  air.  He 

45 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

was  soon  at  the  boundary  cross  of  Our  Lady  in 
Egypt,  and  then  upon  the  waste  and  stony  land  that 
set  toward  the  fief  of  Castel-Noir.  Was  it  only  this 
morning,  thought  Garin,  that  he  had  come  this  way? 
And  the  nightingale  that  sang  so  deep  and  full  —  it 
was  not  in  the  boughs  above  —  it  was  singing  now 
in  his  own  heart! 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   ABBOT 

FRIDAY  the  mistral  blew,  and  Foulque  was  always 
wretched  in  that  wind.  He  gloomed  now  from  this 
narrow  window  and  now  from  that  in  the  black 
castle's  thick  walls.  The  abbot  was  not  expected 
before  the  dial  showed  twelve,  but  Foulque  looked 
from  here  and  looked  from  there,  and  kept  a  man 
atop  of  the  tower  to  scan  the  road  beyond  the  wood. 
The  hall  was  ready  for  the  abbot,  the  arras  hung, 
the  floor  strewn  with  leaves  and  autumn  buds,  the 
great  chair  placed  aright,  a  rich  coverlet  spread  upon 
the  state  bed.  Pierre  was  ready,  —  the  sauce  for  the 
fish,  the  fish  themselves  were  ready  for  the  oven. 
Castel-Noir  rested  clean  and  festive,  and  every  man 
knew  that  he  was  to  sink  down  upon  both  knees  and 
ask  the  abbot's  blessing. 

The  wind  blew  and  hurled  the  leaves  on  high.  The 
sun  shone,  the  sky  was  bright,  but  the  moving  air, 
dry  and  keen,  was  as  a  grindstone  upon  which  tem 
pers  were  edged.  A  shrivelled,  lame  man  must  feel 
it.  Under  the  hooded  mantel  a  fire  was  laid,  but  not 
kindled.  Foulque  could  not  decide  whether  the 
abbot  would  feel  the  wind  as  he  felt  it,  and  want  to 
be  welcomed  with  physical  as  well  as  other  warmth, 
or  whether,  riding  hard,  he  would  be  heated  and 

47 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

would  frown  at  the  sight  of  the  fire.  Foulque  would 
have  liked  a  roaring  blaze,  out-sounding  the  wind. 
But  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius  was  of  a  full 
body,  tall  and  stout,  a  hunter  and  a  hawker.  Foulque 
determined  to  have  a  torch  from  the  kitchen  imme 
diately  at  hand  and  kindle  or  not  kindle  according 
to  the  first  glimpse  of  his  kinsman's  face. 

The  window  embrasures  were  deep  enough  to 
swallow  a  family.  Foulque,  a  sensitive,  knew  with 
out  turning  his  head  when  Garin,  too,  stood  within 
the  one  that  overlooked  the  road  where  it  emerged 
from  the  wood.  ''He  should  be  here  at  any  minute," 
said  Foulque.  "Well?  Well?" 

"Brother  Foulque,"  said  Garin,  "I  have  deter 
mined,  an  it  please  you,  to  bide  with  Lord  Raim- 
baut  and  become  a  knight." 

Foulque  let  his  wrath  gather  to  a  head.  When  it 
was  at  the  withering  point,  his  gaze  having  been 
directed  upon  Garin  for  full  thirty  seconds,  he  spoke. 
"Marry  and  crave  pardon!  Who  is  it  hath  deter 
mined?" 

"I,  "said  Garin.   "I." 

Foulque  moistened  his  lips.  "What  has  come 
to  you?  Raimbaut  will  let  you  go.  The  Abbot  of 
Saint  Pamphilius  invites  —  nay,  he  will  himself 
smooth  your  way  to  Holy  Church's  high  places.  I, 
your  elder  brother,  command  — " 

"Your  entreaty  would  do  more,  brother,"  said 
Garin.  "But  I  can  no  other." 

"'Can  no  other!  —  can  no  other!'  Does  the  fool 

48 


THE  ABBOT 

see  himself  Alexander  or  Roland  or  Arthur?" 
Foulque  laughed.  "Raimbaut  the  Six- fingered 's 
squire!" 

Garin  was  patient.  "All  the  same  he  can  give  me 
knighthood." 

His  brother  laughed  again  and  struck  his  hands 
together.  "Knighthood!  Knighthood!  Oh,  your 
advantage  from  his  buffet  on  your  shoulder !  Raim- 
baut!"  He  held  by  the  wall  and  stamped  with  the 
foot  that  was  not  lamed.  "Fight  —  fight  —  fight! 
then  eat  an  ox  and  drink  a  cask  and  go  sleep !  Ride 
abroad  whenever  you  hear  of  a  tourney  that's  not 
too  difficult  to  enter.  Tilt  —  tilt  —  tilt !  and  if  you 
are  not  killed  or  dragged  to  the  barrier,  win  maybe 
prizes  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  until 
you  hear  of  another  joust!  Between  times,  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep  and  have  not  a  thought  in  your 
head !  Sprawl  in  the  sun  by  the  keep,  or  yawn  in  the 
hall,  or  perhaps  hunt  a  boar  until  there 's  more  fight 
ing!  When  there  is,  be  dragged  from  the  wall  or 
smothered  in  the  moat  or  killed  in  the  breach  when 
the  castle's  taken!  Oh  aye!  Your  lord  may  take  his 
foe's  castle  and  you  be  drunk  for  a  day  with  victory 
and  smothering  and  hanging  and  slaying  on  your 
part!  Yet  forecast  the  day  when  you'll  drink  the 
cup  you're  giving  others!  Look  at  the  dice  in  your 
hand  and  know  that  if  you  throw  six,  yet  will  you 
throw  ace!" 

"  I  may  not  be  always  bound  to  Raimbaut." 

"He  is  not  old,  and  hath  the  strength  of  a  bull! 

49 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

And  what  of  the  young  Raimbaut?  Son  grows  like 
sire—" 

"Even  so,"  said  Garin  desperately,  "things  hap 
pen." 

Foulque's  anger  and  scorn  flowed  on.  "Oh,  I 
grant  you!  Have  I  forgotten  large  wars  that  may 
arise  —  fighting  behind  your  lord  for  Prince  or  King 
or  Emperor?  I  have  not.  Cities  and  great  castles 
instead  of  small  —  thousands  to  kill  and  be  killed 
instead  of  hundreds  —  the  same  thing  but  more  of  it ! 
Still  a  poor  knight  —  still  in  the  train  of  Raimbaut 
the  Six-fingered!  The  young  Raimbaut  hath  six 
fingers  also,  hath  he  not?  —  Oh,  you  may  go  crusad 
ing,  too,  and  see  strange  lands  and  kill  the  infidel 
who  dares  have  his  country  spread  around  the  Holy 
Sepulchre !  Go !  —  and  die  of  thirst  or  be  slain  with 
a  scimitar,  or  have  your  eyes  taken  out  and  no  new 
ones  put  in !  Or,  if  you  can,  slay  and  slay  and  slay 
the  infidel!  What  have  you  got?  Tired  arm  and 
bloody  hands  and  leave  to  go  eat,  drink,  and  sleep! 
A  crusade !  Your  crusade  enriches  one,  beggars  fifty ! 
Returns  one,  keeps  the  bones  of  a  hundred  — " 

"I  do  not  think  of  taking  the  cross,"  said  Garin. 

His  brother  laughed  again  with  a  bitter  mirth. 
"Well,  what 's  left?  Let 's  see !  If  you  can  get  Raim- 
baut's  consent,  you  might  become  an  errant  knight 
and  go  vagabonding  through  the  land!  'Fair  sir, 
may  I  fight  thee  —  all  for  the  glory  of  valour  and 
for  thy  horse  and  trappings?'  —  '  Fair  dame,  having 
no  business  of  mine  own,  may  I  take  thine  upon  me? 

50 


THE  ABBOT 

Tell  me  thy  grievance,  and  I  will  not  enquire  if  it  be 
founded  or  no.  Nor  when,  pursuing  chivalry,  I  have 
redressed  it,  will  I  refuse  rich  gifts.'  —  Bah!"  cried 
Foulque.  "I  had  rather  eat,  drink,  fight,  and  sleep 
with  Raimbaut!" 

''Aye,"  said  Garin;  then  painfully,  " You  are  pic 
turing  the  common  run  of  things.  There  have  been 
and  there  are  and  there  will  be  true  and  famous 
knights  —  aye,  and  learned,  who  make  good  poesy 
and  honour  fair  ladies,  and  are  courteous  and  noble 
and  welcome  in  every  castle  hall!  I  mean  not  to 
be  of  the  baser  sort.  And  those  knights  I  speak  of 
had,  some  of  them,  as  meagre  a  setting  forth  as 


mine  — " 


"  In  romans!  "  answered  Foulque.  "  You  are  a  fool, 
Garin !  Take  the  other  road  —  take  the  other  road ! " 

" I've  made  my  choice." 

"Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered  against  the  Abbot  of 
Saint  Pamphilius,  who  is  close  friend  to  Bishop  Ugo, 
who  is  ear  and  hand  to  the  Pope  — " 

"I  choose." 

"Now,"  cried  Foulque,  choking,  "by  the  soul  of 
our  father,  little  lacks  but  I  call  Sicart  and  Jean  and 
have  you  down  into  the  dungeon !  You  are  too  un 
tamed  —  you  are  too  untamed!" 

"In  your  dungeon,"  said  Garin,  "I  would  think, 
'  How  like  is  this  to  abbey  cell  and  cloister ! ' ' 

A  silence  fell.  Only  mistral  whistled  and  eddied 
around  the  black  tower.  Then  said  Foulque  tensely : 
"What  has  come  to  you?  Two  nights  ago  I  saw  you 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

ready  to  put  your  hands  in  those  of  Holy  Church  —  " 
He  broke  off,  facing  the  man  from  the  tower  top, 
framed  now  in  the  great  door. 

"Horsemen,  my  masters!"  cried  the  watchman; 
"horsemen  at  the  two  pines!" 

Foulque  flung  up  his  arms.  "He  is  coming!  May 
hap  he  will  work  upon  you  —  seeing  that  a  brother 
cannot !  Let  me  by  —  " 

Garin  stood  at  the  window  watching  the  abbot 
and  the  twenty  with  him  —  ecclesiastical  great  noble 
and  his  cowled  following  —  stout  lay  brothers  and 
abbey  serfs  well  clad  and  fed  —  the  abbot's  palfrey, 
sleek  mules  and  horses  —  all  mounting  with  a  jingle 
of  bits  and  creaking  of  leather,  but  with  a  suave  lack 
of  boisterous  laughter,  whoop,  and  shout,  the  grey 
zig-zag  cut  in  the  crag  upon  which  was  perched 
Castel-Noir.  When  they  were  immediately  below 
the  loophole  window,  he  turned  and,  leaving  the 
hall,  went  to  the  castle  gate  and  stood  beside 
Foulque. 

When  Abbot  Arnaut  and  his  palfrey  reached  them 
he  sprang,  squire-like,  to  the  stirrup,  gave  his  shoul 
der  to  the  abbot's  gloved  hand.  When  the  great  man 
was  dismounted,  he  knelt  with  his  brother  for  the 
lifted  fingers  and  blessing.  The  abbot  was  mar 
shalled  across  the  court  to  the  hall,  followed  by  those 
two  from  Saint  Pamphilius  whom  his  nod  indicated. 
Jean  and  Sicart  disposed  of  the  following.  Foulque's 
anxious  drill  bore  fruits;  everything  went  as  if  oiled. 

Mistral  still  blew,  high,  cold  and  keen.  "Have 

52 


THE  ABBOT 

you  a  fire,  kinsman?"  cried  Abbot  Arnaut.    "I  am 
as  cold  as  a  merman  in  the  sea!" 

Foulque  made  haste.  The  torch  was  at  hand  — 
in  a  moment  there  sprang  a  blaze  —  the  hangings 
from  Genoa  were  all  firelit  and  the  great  beams  of 
the  roof. 

' 'Hungry!"  cried  the  abbot.  "  I  am  as  hungry  as 
Tantalus  in  hell!  I  remember  when  once  I  came 
here,  a  boy,  good  fishing  — " 

The  fish  were  good,  Pierre's  sauce  was  good.  All 
received  commendation.  The  abbot  was  portly  and 
tall,  with  a  massy  head,  with  a  countenance  so 
genial,  a  voice  so  bland,  an  eye  so  approving,  that  all 
appeared  nature  and  no  art.  His  lips  seemed  made 
for  golden  syllables,  he  had  an  unctuous  and  a  mel 
low  tongue.  It  was  much  to  hear  him  speak  Latin 
and  much  to  hear  him  discourse  in  the  vernacular. 
The  langue  (Toe  came  richly  from  his  mouth.  He 
was  a  mighty  abbot,  a  gracious  power,  timber  from 
which  were  made  papal  legates. 

Foulque  sat  with  him  at  the  raised  end  of  the 
table,  the  monks  of  his  company  being  ranged  a  foot 
lower.  But  Garin,  as  was  squire-like,  waited  upon 
the  great  guest  and  his  brother.  The  abbot,  the  keen 
edge  of  hunger  abated,  showed  himself  gracious  and 
golden,  friendly,  almost  familiar.  He  spoke  of  the 
past,  and  of  the  father  of  his  hosts.  He  asked  ques 
tions  that  showed  that  he  knew  Castel-Noir,  dark 
wood  and  craggy  hills,  mountains  to  the  north, 
stream  to  the  south.  It  even  seemed  that  he  remem- 

53 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

bered  old  foresters  and  bowmen.  He  knew  the 
neighbouring  fiefs,  the  disputed  ground,  the  Convent 
of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  He  was  warm  and  pleasant 
with  his  kinsmen;  he  said  that  he  had  loved  their 
father  and  that  their  mother  had  been  a  fair,  wise 
lady.  He  remarked  that  poverty  was  a  sore  that 
might  be  salved ;  and  when  he  had  drunk  a  great  cup 
of  spiced  wine,  —  having,  for  his  health's  sake,  a 
perpetual  dispensation  in  that  wise,  —  he  said  that 
he  was  of  mind  that  a  man  should  serve  and  be 
served  by  his  own  blood.  "Kin  may  prove  faithless, 
but  unkin  beats  them  to  the  post!" 

Dinner  was  eaten,  wine  drunken,  hands  washed. 
The  abbot  and  Foulque  rose,  the  monks  of  Saint 
Pamphilius  rose,  the  table  was  cleared,  the  boards 
and  trestles  taken  from  the  hall. 

Abbot  Arnaut,  standing  by  the  fire,  looked  at 
the  great  bed.  "By  the  rood!"  he  said,  "to  face 
mistral  clean  from  Roche-de-Frene  to  this  rock  is  a 
wearisome  thing!  I  will  repose  myself,  kinsman,  for 
one  hour." 

All  withdrew  save  the  lay  brother  whom  he  re 
tained  for  chamberlain.  Foulque  offered  Garin's  ser 
vice,  who  stood  with  ready  hands.  But  the  abbot 
was  used  to  Brother  Anselm,  said  as  much,  and  with 
a  sleepy  and  mellow  voice  dismissed  the  two  brothers. 
11  Return  in  an  hour  when  I  shall  be  refreshed.  Then 
will  we  talk  of  that  of  which  I  wrote." 

The  two  left  the  hall.  Without,  Foulque  must  dis 
cover  from  Jean  and  Sicart  if  all  went  well  and  the 

54 


THE  ABBOT 

abbot's  train  was  in  good  humour.  " I've  known  a 
discontented  horse-boy  make  a  prince  as  discon 
tented!"  But  they  who  followed  the  abbot  were 
laughing  in  the  small,  bare  court,  and  the  bare 
ward  room.  Even  mistral  did  not  seem  to  trouble 
them. 

South  of  the  tower,  in  the  angle  between  it  and 
the  wall,  lay  the  tiniest  of  grass-plots,  upbearing  one 
tall  cypress.  Foulque,  his  mantle  close  around  him, 
beckoned  hither  Garin.  Here  was  a  stone  seat  in  the 
sun,  and  the  black  tower  between  one  and  that  wind 
from  the  mountains.  Foulque  sat  and  argued,  Garin 
stood  with  his  back  against  the  cypress.  The  hour 
dropped  away,  and  Foulque  saw  nothing  gained. 
He  shook  with  wrath  and  concern  for  slipping  for 
tunes.  " Since  yesterday!  This  has  happened  since 
yesterday!  You  took  your  rod  and  went  down  to 
the  river  to  fish.  What  siren  sang  to  you  from  what 
pool?" 

Garin  lifted  his  head.  "  No  siren.  Something  wak 
ened  within  me,  and  now  I  will  be  neither  monk  nor 
priest.  I  am  sorry  to  grieve  you,  Foulque." 

But  Foulque  nursed  his  wrath.  "The  hour  has 
passed,"  he  said.  "So  we  go  back  to  the  abbot  and 
spurn  a  rich  offer!"  He  rose  and  with  a  bleak  face 
left  the  grass-plot. 

Garin  followed,  but  not  immediately.  He  stood, 
beneath  the  cypress  tree  and  tried  to  see  his  life. 
He  could  not  do  so;  he  could  only  tell  that  his 
heart  was  parted  between  sorrow  and  joy,  and 

55 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

that  a  nightingale  sang  and  sang.  He  could  tell 
that  he  wished  to  live  beautifully,  to  do  noble  deeds, 
to  win  honour,  to  serve,  if  need  be  to  die  for,  a  god 
dess  whose  face  was  veiled.  His  life  whirled ;  at  once 
he  felt  generous,  wealthy,  and  great,  and  poor, 
humble,  and  despairing.  He  seemed  to  see  through 
drifting  mists  a  Great  Meaning;  then  the  cloud  thick 
ened  and  he  was  only  Garin,  Raimbaut's  squire  — 
then  again  images  and  music,  then  aching  sadness. 
He  stood  with  parted  lips,  beneath  the  cypress,  and 
he  looked  south.  At  last  he  sighed  and  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  then  turned  and  went  back  to 
the  hall. 

The  abbot  was  awake,  had  left  the  great  bed  and 
come  to  the  great  chair.  Seated  at  ease  in  the  light 
of  the  renewed  fire,  he  was  goldenly  discoursing  to 
Foulque  who  sat  on  a  stool,  of  Roche-de-Frene  and 
its  prince  and  his  court,  and  of  Bishop  Ugo.  "Ah,  the 
great  chances  in  the  fair  lap  of  Mother  Church! 
Ugo  is  ambitious.  There  it  is  that  we  differ.  I  am 
not  ambitious  —  no,  no!  I  am  an  easy  soul,  and 
but  take  things  as  they  come  my  way ! "  He  turned 
in  his  chair  and  looked  at  Garin  standing  behind  his 
brother.  " Ha! "  he  said,  " and  this  is  the  squire  who 
would  become  canon?" 

Foulque  groaned.  "Most  Reverend  Father,  the 
boy  is  mad !  I  think  that  he  is  bewitched.  I  pray  that 
of  your  goodness,  wisdom  and  eloquence  you  bring 
him  to  a  right  mind  — " 

The  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius  smiled,  assured 

56 


THE  ABBOT 

as  the  sun.  "  What  is  it?  Does  he  think  that  already 
he  has  Fortune  for  mistress?" 

"  He  will  choose  knighthood,"  said  Foulque.  "He 
has  no  doubt  of  winning  it." 

The  abbot  lifted  his  brows.  He  looked  with  dig 
nity  into  the  fire,  then  back  at  Foulque  and  at  Garin 
the  squire.  "It  pains  me,"  he  said,  "the  folly  of 
mankind !  Are  you  born  prince,  count  or  baron,  then 
in  reason,  you  must  run  the  course  where  you  are 
set.  Though  indeed,  time  out  of  mind,  have  been 
found  castellans,  vavasours,  barons,  dukes,  and 
princes  who  have  laid  aside  hauberk,  shield,  and 
banner,  and  blithely  come  with  all  their  wealth  into 
the  peaceful  hive  of  Holy  Church  —  so  rightly  could 
they  weigh  great  value  against  low !  But  such  as  you, 
young  man  —  but  such  as  you  —  poor  liegemen  of 
poor  lords!  What  would  you  have?  Verily,  the  folly 
is  deep!  By  no  means  all  who  would  have  knight 
hood  gain  it,  and  if  it  is  gained,  what  then?  Another 
poor  knight  in  a  world  where  they  are  as  thick  and 
undistinguishable  as  locusts !  —  Ha,  what  do  you 
say?" 

Garin's  lips  had  moved,  but  now  he  flushed  red. 

"Speak  out!"  commanded  the  abbot,  blandly 
imperious.  "What  was  it  that  you  said?" 

Garin  lowered  his  eyes.  "I  said  that  there  were 
many  churchmen  in  the  world,  as  thick  and  undis 
tinguishable —  " 

Foulque  drew  a  dismayed  breath.  But  the  Abbot 
of  Saint  Pamphilius  laughed.  He  sat  well  back  in  his 

57 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

chair  and  looked  at  the  squire  with  freshened  inter 
est.  " Granted,  Bold  Wit!  The  point  is  this.  Did 
you  show  me  here  the  signet  ring,  not  —  God  defend 
us!  —  of  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered,  but  of  Raim- 
baut's  lord  and  yours,  Savaric  of  Montmaure,  then 
would  I  say,  'So  you  have  your  patron!  Good  for 
tune,  fair  kinsman,  who  are  half-way  up  the  ladder !' ' 
He  looked  at  the  squire  and  laughed.  "  You  have  it 
not  by  you,  I  think?"  Garin  shook  his  head.  "Well 
then,"  said  the  abbot,  "choose  Holy  Church.  For 
here,  I  think,"  —  he  spoke  very  goldenly,  —  "you 
may  show  a  patron.  A  feeble  one,  my  son  —  of 
course,  a  feeble  one  — " 

Garin  came  from  behind  Foulque,  kneeled  before 
the  abbot,  and  thanked  him  for  great  kindness  and 
condescension.  "But,  Reverend  Father,  with  all 
gratefulness  and  humbleness,  yet  I  will  not  the 
tonsure  — " 

The  abbot  with  a  gesture  kept  him  kneeling. 
"There  is  some  reason  here  that  you  hide.  You  are 
young,  you  are  young !  I  guess  that  your  reason  goes 
by  name  of  woman  — " 

Garin  knelt  silent,  but  Foulque  uttered  an  ex 
clamation.  "No,  Reverend  Father,  no!  What  has 
changed  him  I  know  not,  but  it  has  happened  here 
at  Castel-Noir,  since  yesterday !  There  is  no  woman 
here,  in  hut  or  tower,  that  could  tempt  him  — " 

But  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius  continued  to 
gaze  upon  Garin,  and  to  tap  gently  with  his  fingers 
upon  the  arm  of  the  great  chair.  "I  hold  not,"  he 

58 


THE  ABBOT 

said  softly,  "with  those  who  would  condone  concu 
binage,  and  who  see  no  harm  in  a  too  fair  cousin, 
niece,  or  servant  in  priests'  dwellings.  It  is  all  sin 

—  it  is  all  sin  —  and  Holy  Church  must  reprobate 

—  yea,  must  chastise.    But  flesh  is  weak,  my  son, 
flesh  is  weak !  Somewhat  may  be   compounded  — 
somewhat  overlooked — somewhat  pardoned !  Espe 
cially,  if  not  solely,  in  the  case  of  those  whose  ser 
vice  is  great.   As  for  courtly  love — "  The  abbot 
smiled.  "  When  you  come  to  courtly  love,"  he  said, 
"  there  are  many  lordly    churchmen  have  praised 
fair    ladies!  —  Do    I    resolve    your    scruples,    my 
son?" 

But  Garin's  look  showed  no  shaken  determination, 
'f  he  abbot  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  * '  The  time  grows 
tender/'  he  said.  " Womanish  and  tender!  Your 
father  would  have  known  how  to  bring  you  to  reason. 
Your  grandfather  would  have  disposed  of  you  like 
any  Roman  of  old.  But  now  any  sir  squire  is  let  to 
say,  ' I  will'  —  or  ' I  will  not!'  —  Think  not  that  I 
wish  him  about  me  who  is  sullen  and  intractable! 
Nor  that  I  lack  other  kinsmen  who  are  pleaders 
for  that  kindness  I  would  have  shown  Castel-Noir! 
There  is  young  Enric,  Bernart's  son  —  and  there 
are  others.  —  Rise  and  begone  to  Raimbaut  the  Six- 
fingered 's  keep!" 

Garin  stood  up.  Foulque  made  to  speak,  but  the 
abbot  waved  the  matter  down. 

"All  is  said.  It  is  a  trifle,  and  we  will  disturb  our 
selves  no  further.  God  knows,  ungrateful  young  men 

59 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

are  no  rarity!  Doubtless  he  hath,  after  all,  Mont- 
maure's  signet  —  What  is  it  now?'* 

Into  the  hall,  from  the  court  without,  had  come  a 
sound  of  trampling  hoofs  and  of  voices  —  one  voice 
sullen  and  heavy.  Garin  started  violently,  Foulque 
sprang  to  his  feet.  The  great  door  was  flung  open, 
admitting  a  burst  of  wind  that  shook  the  hangings, 
and  behind  it,  Sicart  open-mouthed  and  breathless. 

"Master,  master!  here  is  Lord  Raimbaut!" 


CHAPTER  V 

RAIMBAUT   THE   SIX-FINGERED 

A  LORD  might  of  course  visit  one  who  held  from 
him,  often  did  so.  But  it  was  not  Raimbaut's  use  to 
ride  to  Castel-Noir.  And  Garin,  parting  from  him 
less  than  a  week  ago,  had  heard  no  word  of  his 
coming. 

But  here  he  was,  pushing  Sicart  aside,  striding 
into  the  hall,  a  low-browed,  thick-skulled  giant, 
savage  with  his  foes,  dull  and  grudging  with  his 
friends  —  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered !  Foulque  has 
tened  to  do  him  reverence,  make  him  welcome; 
Garin,  stepping  to  his  side,  took  from  him  his  wide, 
rust-hued  mantle  and  furred  cap. 

"Well  met,  my  Lord  Raimbaut!"  said  the  abbot 
in  his  golden  tones. 

Raimbaut  gloomed  upon  him.  "Ha,  Lord  Abbot! 
Are  you  here  for  this  springald,  my  esquire?  Well, 
I  have  said  that  you  might  have  him." 

"Nay,"  said  the  abbot  mellowly,  "  I  think  that  I 
want  him  not." 

" — have  him,"  pursued  Raimbaut.  "And  like 
wise  his  quarrel  with  Savaric  of  Montmaure." 

He  spoke  with  a  deep,  growling  voice,  as  of  an 
angered  mastiff,  and  as  he  spoke  turned  like  one 

61 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

upon  Garin.  "Why, by  every  fiend  in  hell,  did  you 
fight  a  Tuesday,  with  his  son?" 

Garin  stared.  He  heard  Foulque's  distressed 
exclamation,  saw  the  abbot  purse  his  lips,  but  be 
yond  all  that  he  had  a  vision  of  a  forest  glade  and 
heard  a  clash  of  steel.  He  drew  breath.  "Was  he 
that  knight  in  crimson?  Was  that  Jaufre  de  Mont- 
maure?" 

Raimbaut  doubled  his  fist  and  advanced  it.  Be 
fore  this  Garin  had  come  to  earth  beneath  his  lord's 
buffet.  He  awaited  it  now,  standing  as  squarely  as 
he  might.  He  was  aware  that  Raimbaut  had  for  him 
a  kind  of  thwart  liking  —  a  liking  that  made,  in 
Raimbaut's  mind,  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
strike  when  angry.  It  was  not  the  expected  blow 
that  set  Garin's  mind  whirling.  But  Jaufre  de  Mont- 
maure !  To  his  knowledge  he  had  never,  until  that 
Tuesday,  seen  that  same  Jaufre.  But  he  knew  of 
him,  oh,  knew  of  him!  Montmaure  was  a  great 
count,  overlord  of  towns  and  many  castles.  In 
Garin's  world  Savaric  of  Montmaure  was  only 
less  than  Gaucelm  of  Roche-de-Frene  —  Gaucelm 
the  Fortunate  from  whom  Savaric  held  certain  fiefs. 
Immediately,  Montmaure  loomed  larger  than  Roche- 
de-Fr£ne,  for  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered  owed  direct 
fealty  to  Montmaure  and  in  war  must  furnish  a 
hundred  men-at-arms. 

Garin  knew  of  the  young  count,  Sir  Jaufre.  He 
knew  that  Jaufre  had  been  long  time  in  Italy,  at 
the  court  where  his  mother  was  born,  but  that  now 

62 


RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 

he  was  looked  for  home  again.  He  knew  that  he 
had  fought  boldly  in  sieges  of  cities,  and  in  tourna 
ments  was  acclaimed  brave  and  fortunate.  Perhaps 
Garin  had  dreamed  of  his  own  chance  coming 
to  him  by  way  of  Montmaure — perhaps  he  had 
dreamed  of  somehow  recommending  himself  to  this 
same  Jaufre.  That  gibe  of  the  abbot's  about  the 
signet  ring  had  struck  from  the  squire  an  answering 
thought,  ''Some  day  I  may  — "  Now  came  the  re 
versal,  now  Garin  felt  a  faintness,  an  icy  fall.  He 
was  young  and  in  a  thousand  ways,  unfree.  For  a 
day  and  a  night  his  conscious  being  had  strained 
high.  Now  there  came  a  dull  subsidence,  a  slipping 
toward  the  abyss.  "Jaufre  de  Montmaure!" 

Raimbaut  did  not  deliver  the  meditated  blow  — 
too  angered  and  concerned  was  Raimbaut  to  dis 
pense  slight  tokens.  He  let  his  hand  drop,  but 
ground  beneath  his  heavy  foot  the  rushes  on  the 
floor.  "I  would  I  had  had  you  chained  in  the  pit 
below  the  dungeon  before  I  let  you  go  to  Roche-de- 
Frene!"  He  turned  on  Foulque  who  stood,  grey- 
faced  and  dry-lipped.  "Knew  you  what  this  fool 
did?" 

Foulque  struck  his  hands  together.  "He  told  me 
that  eve.  He  did  not  know  and  I  did  not  know  — 
He  thought  it  might  be  some  wandering  knight  — 
Ah,  my  Lord  Raimbaut,  as  we  owe  you  service,  so 
do  you  owe  us  protection!" 

Raimbaut  strode  up  and  down,  heavy  and  black 
as  his  own  ancient  donjon.  "  Comes  to  me  yestereve, 

63 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

as  formal  as  you  please,  a  herald  from  Montmaure! 
'Hark  and  hear,'  says  he,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  'to 
what  befell  our  young  lord,  Sir  Jaufre,  riding  through 
the  forest  called  La  Belle,  and  for  some  matter  or 
other  sending  a  good  way  ahead  those  that  rode  with 
him.  Came  a  squire  out  of  the  wood,  drunken  and, 
as  it  were,  mad,  and  with  him,  plain  to  be  seen,  a 
stark  fiend !  Then  did  the  two  fall  upon  Sir  Jaufre 
from  behind  and  forced  him  to  fight,  and  by  necro 
mancy  overthrew  and  wounded  him,  and,  ignobly 
and  villainously,  bound  him  to  a  tree.  Which,  when 
they  had  done,  they  vanished.  And  straightway  his 
men  found  him  and  brought  him  home.  And  now 
that  fiend  may  perchance  not  be  found,  but  assur 
edly  the  man  may  be  discovered!  When  he  is,  for 
his  foul  pride,  treason,  and  wizardry,  the  Count  of 
Montmaure  will  flay  him  alive  and  nail  him  head 
downward  to  a  tree." 

Mistral  sent  into  the  hall  a  withering  blast.  The 
smoke  from  the  fire  blew  out  and  went  here  and 
there  in  wreaths.  It  set  the  abbot  coughing.  Raim- 
baut  the  Six-fingered  continued  his  striding  up  and 
down.  "Then  he  puffs  his  cheeks  out  and  says  on, 
and  wits  me  to  know  that  Savaric  of  Montmaure 
calls  on  every  man  that  owes  him  fealty  to  discover 
—  an  he  is  known  to  them  —  that  churl  and  mis- 
doer.  And  thereupon,"  ended  Raimbaut  on  a  note 
of  thunder,  "to  my  face  he  describes  Garin  my 
esquire!" 

Garin  stood  silent,  but  Foulque  panted  hard. 

64 


RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 

"Ah,  thou  unhappy!  Ah,  the  end  of  Castel-Noir! 
Ah,  my  Lord  Raimbaut,  have  we  not  been  faithful 
liegemen?"  He  caught  his  brother  by  the  arm. 
"Kneel,  Garin  —  and  I  will  kneel  —  " 

But  Garin  did  not  kneel.  He  stood  young, 
straight,  pale  with  indignation.  "Brother  and  Rev 
erend  Father  and  my  Lord  Raimbaut,"  he  cried, 
"never  in  my  life  had  I  to  do  with  a  fiend!  Nor 
was  I  drunken  nor  without  sense !  Nor  did  I  come 
upon  him  from  behind!  Does  he  say  that,  then 
am  I  more  glad  than  I  was  that  I  brought  him  fairly 
to  the  earth  and,  because  of  his  own  treachery,  tied 
him  to  a  tree  and  bound  his  hands  with  his  stirrup 
leather  —  " 

Raimbaut,  in  his  striding  up  and  down  being  close 
to  his  squire,  turned  upon  him  at  this  and  delivered 
the  buffet.  It  brought  Garin,  hand  and  knee,  upon 
the  rushes,  but  he  rose  with  lightness.  Raimbaut, 
striding  on  by,  came  to  the  abbot,  who,  having 
ended  coughing,  sat,  double  chin  on  hand  and  foot 
in  furred  slipper,  tapping  the  floor.  He  stopped 
short,  feudal  lord  beside  as  massive  ecclesiastic. 
"The  Church  says  it  is  her  part  to  counsel !  Out  then 
with  good  counsel!" 

The  abbot  looked  at  him  aslant,  then  spoke  with 
a  golden  voice.  "Did  you  tell  the  count's  herald 
that  it  was  your  esquire?" 

"Not  I!  I  said  that  it  had  a  sound  of  Aimeric  of 
the  Forest's  men."  Aimeric  of  the  Forest  was  a  lord 
with  whom  Raimbaut  was  wont  to  wage  private  war. 

65 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  abbot  murmured  "Ah!"  then,  "Did  any  in 
your  castle  betray  him?" 

"No,"  said  Raimbaut.  "Only  Guilhelm,  and 
Hugonet  heard  surely  and  knew  for  certain.  Six-fin 
gered  we  may  be  and  rude,  but  we  wait  a  bit  be 
fore  we  give  our  esquires  to  other  men's  deaths!" 
Again  he  covered  with  his  stride  the  space  before  the 
wide  hearth.  He  was  as  huge  as  a  boar  and  as  grim, 
but  a  certain  black  tenseness  and  danger  seemed  to 
go  out  of  the  air  of  the  hall.  Turning,  he  again  faced 
the  abbot.  "So  I  think,  now  the  best  wit  that  I  can 
find  is  to  say  '  Aye  *  twice  where  I  have  already  said 
it  once,  and  speed  this  same  Garin  the  fighter  into 
Church's  fold !  Let  him  as  best  he  may  convoy  him 
self  to  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Pamphilius.  There  he  may 
be  turned  at  once  into  Brother  Such-an-one.  So 
he  will  be  as  safe  and  hid  as  if  he  were  in  Heaven 
and  Our  Lady  drooped  her  mantle  over  him.  By 
degrees  Montmaure  may  forget,  or  he  may  flay  the 
wrong  man  — " 

The  abbot  covered  his  mouth  with  his  hand  and 
looked  into  the  blaze  that  mistral  drove  this  way 
and  that.  Foulque  came  close,  with  a  haggard, 
wrinkling  face;  but  Garin,  having  risen  from  Raim- 
baut's  buffet,  made  no  other  motion. 

The  abbot  dropped  his  hand  and  spoke.  "  Do  you 
not  know  that  last  year  the  Count  of  Montmaure 
became  Advocate  and  Protector  of  the  Abbey  of 
Saint  Pamphilius?  As  little  as  Lord  Raimbaut  do  I 
will  openly  to  offend  Count  Savaric." 

66 


RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 

"' Openly,'"  cried  Foulque.  "Ah,  Reverend 
Father,  it  would  not  be  'openly' — " 

But  Abbot  Arnaut  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  your 
'secret  help,'"  he  said  goldenly.  "It  is  that  which 
most  in  this  world  getteth  simple  and  noble,  lay  and 
cleric,  into  trouble!"  He  spread  his  hands.  "More 
over,  our  Squire-who-fights-knights  hath  just  de 
clined  the  tonsure." 

"Hath  he  so?"  exclaimed  Raimbaut.  "He  is  the 
more  to  my  liking !  —  So  the  abbot  will  let  Count 
Savaric  take  him?" 

The  abbot  put  his  fingers  together.  "I  will  do 
nothing,"  he  said,  "that  will  imperil  the  least  inter 
est  of  Holy  Mother  Church.  I  will  never  act  to  the 
endangering  of  one  small  ornament  upon  her  robe." 

Raimbaut  made  a  sound  like  the  grunt  of  a  boar. 
Foulque  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  But,"  pursued  the  abbot,  "kin  is  kin,  and  in  the 
little,  narrow  lane  that  is  left  me  I  will  do  what  I 
can ! "  He  spoke  to  Raimbaut.  "Has  Count  Savaric 
bands  out  in  search  of  him?" 

"Aye.  They  will  look  here  as  elsewhere." 

Garin  stood  forth.  Above  his  eye  was  a  darkening 
mark,  sign  of  Raimbaut's  buffet.  It  was  there,  but 
it  did  not  depreciate  something  else  which  was  like 
wise  there  and  which,  for  the  moment,  made  of  his 
whole  body  a  symbol,  enduing  it  to  an  extent  with 
visible  bloom,  apparent  power.  For  many  hours  there 
had  been  an  inward  glowing.  But  heretofore  to-day, 
what  with  Foulque  and  Abbot  Arnaut  and  disputes, 

67 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

anxieties,  and  preoccupation,  it  had  been  somewhat 
pushed  away,  stifled  under.  Now  it  burst  forth,  to 
be  seen  and  felt  by  others,  though  not  understood. 
Anger  and  outrage  at  that  knight's  false  accusation 
helped  it  forth.  And  —  though  Garin  himself  did 
not  understand  this  —  that  glade  in  the  forest 
toward  Roche-de-Frene,  and  that  lawn  of  the  poplar, 
the  plane,  and  the  cedar  by  the  Convent  of  Our 
Lady  in  Egypt,  that  Tuesday  and  that  Thursday, 
came  somehow  into  contact,  embraced,  reinforced 
each  the  other.  Aware,  or  unaware,  in  his  conscious 
or  in  his  unconscious  experience,  there  was  present  a 
deep  and  harmonious  vibration,  an  expansion  and 
intensification  of  being.  Something  of  this  came  out 
ward  and  crossed  space,  to  the  others'  apprehension. 
They  felt  bloom  and  they  felt  beauty,  and  they 
stared  at  him  strangely,  as  though  he  were  palely 
demigod. 

He  spoke.  "  Brother  Foulque  and  Lord  Raimbaut 
and  Reverend  Father,  let  me  cut  this  knot  I  I  must 
leave  Castel-Noir  and  leave  my  Lord  Raimbaut 's 
castle,  and  I  must  take  my  leave  without  delay. 
That  is  plain.  Plain,  too,  that  I  must  not  go  in  this 
green  and  brown  that  I  wore  when  I  fought  him! 
Sicart  can  find  me  serf's  clothing.  When  it  is  night,  I 
will  quit  Castel-Noir,  and  I  will  lie  in  the  fir  wood, 
near  the  little  shrine,  five  miles  west  of  here.  In  the 
morning  you,  Reverend  Father,  pass  with  your 
train.  The  help  that  Foulque  and  I  ask  is  that  you 
will  let  me  join  the  Abbey  people.  They  have 

68 


RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 

scarcely  seen  me  —  Sicart  shall  cut  my  hair  and 
darken  my  face  —  they  will  not  know  me.  But  do 
you,  of  your  charity,  bid  one  of  the  brothers  take  me 
up  behind  him.  Let  me  overtravel  in  safe  company 
sufficient  leagues  to  put  me  out  of  instant  clutch  of 
Count  Savaric  and  that  noble  knight,  Sir  Jaufre! 
I  will  leave  you  short  of  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Pam- 
philius." 

"And  where  then,  Garin,  where  then?"  cried 
Foulque. 

"I  will  go,"  said  Garin,  "toward  Toulouse  and 
Foix  and  Spain.  Give  me,  Foulque,  what  money 
you  can.  I  will  go  in  churl's  guise  until  I  am  out  and 
away  from  Montmaure's  reach.  Then  in  some  town 
I  will  get  me  a  fit  squire's  dress.  If  you  can  give  me 
enough  to  buy  a  horse  —  very  good  will  that  be!" 
He  lifted  and  stretched  his  arms  —  a  gesture  that 
ordinarily  he  would  not  have  used  in  the  presence 
of  elder  brother,  lord,  or  churchman.  "Ah!"  cried 
Garin,  "then  will  I  truly  begin  life  —  how,  I  know 
not  now,  but  I  will  begin  it !  Moreover,  I  will  live 
it,  in  some  fashion,  well!" 

The  three  elder  men  still  stared  at  him.  Mature 
years,  advantageous  place,  bulked  large  indeed  in 
their  day.  A  young  Daniel  might  be  very  wise,  but 
was  he  not  young?  A  squire  might  propose  the 
solution  of  a  riddle,  but  it  were  unmannerly  for  the 
squire  to  take  credit ;  a  mouse  might  gnaw  the  lion's 
net,  but  the  mouse  remained  mouse,  and  the  lion 
lion.  The  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius,  and  Raim- 

69 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

baut  the  Six- fingered,  and  Foulque  the  elder  brother 
looked  doubtfully  at  Garin.  But  the  air  of  bloom 
and  light  and  power  held  long  enough.  They  devised 
no  better  plan,  and,  for  the  time  at  least,  their  minds 
subdued  themselves  and  put  away  anger  and  ceased 
to  consider  rebuke. 

Raimbaut  spoke.  "I  give  you  leave.  I  have  not 
been  a  bad  lord  to  you." 

His  squire  looked  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "  No, 
lord,  you  have  not.  I  thank  you  for  much.  And 
some  day  if  I  may  I  will  return  good  for  good,  and 
pay  the  service  that  I  owe!" 

Foulque  the  Cripple  limped  from  the  hearth  to  a 
chest  by  the  wall,  unlocked  it  with  a  key  hanging 
from  his  belt,  and  took  out  a  bag  of  soft  leather  — 
a  small  bag  and  a  lank.  He  turned  with  it.  "You 
shall  have  wherewith  to  fit  you  out.  Escape  harm 
now,  little  brother!  But  when  the  wind  has  ceased 
to  blow,  come  back  — " 

The  abbot  seemed  to  awake  from  a  dream,  and, 
awakening,  became  golden  and  expansive  even  be 
yond  his  wont.  "You  hear  him  say  himself  that 
he  has  no  vocation.  .  .  .  Nay,  if  he  begins  so  early 
by  overthrowing  knights  he  may  be  called,  who 
knoweth?  to  become  a  column  and  pattern  of  chiv 
alry!  I  will  bring  him  safe  out  of  the  immediate 
clutch  of  danger." 

An  hour,  and  Raimbaut  departed,  and  none  out 
side  the  hall  of  Castel-Noir  knew  aught  but  that, 
hunting  a  stag,  he  had  come  riding  that  way.  The 

70 


RAIMBAUT  THE  SIX-FINGERED 

sun  set,  and  the  abbot  and  his  following  had  supper 
and  Garin  served  his  brother  and  Abbot  Arnaut. 
Afterwards,  it  was  said  about  the  place  that  the 
company  —  having  a  long  way  to  make — would  ride 
away  before  dawn.  So,  after  a  few  hours  sleep,  all 
did  arise  by  torchlight  and  ate  a  hasty  breakfast, 
and  the  horses  and  mules  and  the  abbot's  palfrey 
stamped  in  the  courtyard.  Mistral  was  dead  and  the 
air  cool,  still,  and  dark.  The  swung  torches  confused 
shadow  and  substance.  In  the  trampling  and  neigh 
ing  and  barking  of  dogs, .  clamour  and  shifting  of 
shapes,  it  went  unnoticed  that  only  Foulque  was 
there  to  bid  farewell  to  the  abbot  and  kinsman. 

In  the  early  night,  under  the  one  cypress  between 
the  tower  and  the  wall,  Foulque  and  Garin  had  said 
farewell.  The  light  was  gone  from  about  Garin;  he 
seemed  but  a  youth,  poor  and  stricken,  fleeing  before 
a  very  actual  danger.  The  two  brothers  embraced. 
They  shed  tears,  for  in  their  time  men  wept  when 
they  felt  like  doing  so.  They  commended  each  other 
to  God  and  Our  Lady  and  all  the  saints,  and  they 
parted,  not  knowing  if  ever  they  would  see  each 
other  again. 

The  abbot  and  his  company  wound  down  the  zig 
zag  road  and  turned  face  toward  the  distant  Abbey 
of  Saint  Pamphilius.  Riding  westward  they  came 
into  the  fir  wood.  The  sun  was  at  the  hill-tops,  when 
they  overtook  a  limping  pedestrian,  —  a  youth  in  a 
coarse  and  worn  dress,  with  shoes  of  poor  leather 
and  leggings  of  bark  bound  with  thongs,  and  with  a 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

caped  hood  that  obscured  his  features.  Questioned, 
he  said  that  his  father  sowed  grain  and  reaped  it  for 
Castel-Noir,  but  that  he  had  an  uncle  who  was  a 
dyer  and  lived  beyond  Albi.  His  uncle  was  an  old 
man  and  had  somewhat  to  leave  and  his  father  had 
got  permission  for  him  to  go  on  a  visit  —  and  he  had 
hurt  his  foot.  With  that  he  looked  wistfully  at  the 
horse  of  the  lay  brother  who  had  summoned  him  to 
the  abbot. 

"  Saint  Gilles! "  exclaimed  the  abbot,  and  he  spoke 
loud  and  goldenly.  "It  were  a  long  way  to  hop  to 
Albi!  Not  a  day  but  I  strive  to  plant  one  kindly 
deed  —  Take  him  up,  my  son,  behind  thee! " 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   GARDEN 

THE  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius  and  Garin  the 
squire  rode  westward  —  that  is  to  say  they  rode 
away  from  the  busy  town  of  Roche-de-Frene;  the 
cathedral,  where,  atop  the  mounting  tower,  trowel 
clinked  against  stone;  the  bishop's  palace,  where, 
that  morning  Ugo  wrote  a  letter  to  Pope  Alexander; 
and  the  vast  castle  with  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate's 
banner  above  it. 

Roche-de-Frene  dyed  with  scarlet  second  only  to 
that  of  Montpellier.  It  wove  fine  stuffs,  its  saddlers 
were  known  for  their  work,  it  made  good  weapons. 
Rome  had  left  it  a  ruined  amphitheatre  —  not  so 
large  as  that  at  Aries,  but  large  enough  to  house  a 
trade.  Here  was  the  quarter  of  the  moulders  of 
candles.  A  fair  wine  was  made  in  the  country  round 
about,  brought  to  Roche-de-Frene  and  sold,  and 
thence  sold  again.  It  was  a  mart  likewise  for  great, 
creamy-flanked  cattle.  They  came  in  droves  over 
the  bridge  that  crossed  the  river  and  were  sold  and 
bought  without  the  walls,  in  the  long,  poplar-streaked 
field  where  was  held  the  yearly  fair. 

It  was  not  a  free  town  —  not  yet.  Time  was  when 
its  people  had  been  serfs  wholly,  chattels  and  thralls 
completely  of  the  lords  who  built  the  great  castle. 

73 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Less  than  a  hundred  years  ago  that  was  still  largely 
true.  Then  had  entered  small  beginnings,  fragmen 
tary  privileges,  rights  of  trade,  commutations,  mar 
ket  grants.  These  had  increased ;  every  decade  saw  a 
little  freedom  filched.  Lords  must  have  wealth,  and 
the  craftsmen  and  traders  made  it;  money-rent 
entered  in  place  of  old  obediences.  Silver  paid  off 
body-service.  Skill  increased,  and  the  number  of 
wares  made,  and  commerce  in  them.  Wealth  in 
creased.  The  town  grew  bolder  and  consciously 
strove  for  small  liberties.  Roche-de-Frene  was  differ 
ent  now  indeed  from  the  old  times  when  it  had  been 
wholly  servile.  It  was  growing  with  the  strong 
twelfth  century.  All  manner  of  ideas  entered  its 
head. 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate's  father  had  been  Gaucelm 
the  Crusader,  Gaucelm  of  the  Star.  Certain  of  the 
ideas  of  the  burghers  of  Roche-de-Frene  had  been 
approved  by  this  prince.  Others  found  themselves 
stingingly  rebuked.  One  of  Roche-de-Frene's  con 
cepts  of  its  own  good  might  flourish  in  court  favour, 
a  second  just  exist  like  grass  under  a  stone,  wan  and 
sere,  a  third  encounter  all  the  forces  of  extirpation. 
In  the  main  Gaucelm  of  the  Star  bore  hardly  against 
the  struggle  for  liberty.  But  at  the  last  he  took  the 
cross,  and  needing  moneys  so  that  he  might  go  to 
Jerusalem  with  great  array,  granted  "privileges." 
After  three  years  he  returned  from  Palestine  and 
granted  no  more.  He  died  and  Gaucelm  the  Fortu 
nate  reigned.  For  five  years  he  fought  the  ideas 

74 


THE  GARDEN 

of  Roche-de-Fr6ne.  Then  he  changed,  almost  in  a 
night-time,  and  granted  almost  more  than  was 
asked.  His  barons  and  knights  stared  and  won 
dered;  Gaucelm  was  no  weakling.  Roche-de-Frene 
sat  down  to  digest  and  assimilate  what  it  had 
gained.  The  town  was  no  more  radical  than  it 
thought  reasonable.  The  meal  was  sufficient  for 
the  time  being.  There  began  a  string  of  quiet 
years. 

The  bishop's  palace  stood  a  long  building,  with 
wings  at  right  angles.  Before  it  spread  a  flagged 
place,  and  in  the  middle  of  this  a  fountain  jetted, 
the  water  streaming  from  dolphins'  jaws.  In  old 
times  the  bishops  of  Roche-de-Frene  had  been 
mightier  than  its  ravening,  war-shredded  lords. 
Then  had  arisen  the  great  line  that  built  the  castle 
and  subdued  the  fiefs  and  turned  from  baron  to 
prince  and  outweighed  the  bishops.  The  fountain, 
shifting  its  spray  as  the  wind  blew,  had  seen  a-many 
matters,  a-many  ambitions  rise  and  fall  and  rise 
again. 

The  fountain  streamed  and  the  spray  shifted  this 
autumn,  while  the  trees  turned  to  gold  and  bronze 
and  the  grapes  were  gathered,  and  through  the 
countryside  bare  feet  of  peasants  trod  the  wine 
press,  and  over  the  bridge  in  droves  lowed  the  cream- 
hued  cattle.  It  rose  and  fell  time  before  and  time 
after  that  feast-day  on  which  the  squire  Garin  had 
knelt  in  the  cathedral  dusk  between  the  Palestine 
pillars,  before  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Fr£ne  in  blue 

75 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

samite  and  a  gemmy  crown.  It  streamed  and 
sparkled  on  a  sunny  morning  when  Bishop  Ugo, 
bound  for  the  castle,  behind  him  a  secretary  and 
other  goodly  following,  checked  his  white  mule  be 
side  the  basin  and  blessed  the  lounging  folk  who 
sank  upon  their  knees. 

The  process  consumed  no  great  while.  Ugo  was 
presently  riding  up  the  town's  chief  street,  a  thor 
oughfare  that  marked  the  ridge  pole  of  the  hill  of 
Roche-de-Frene.  People  were  abroad,  and  as  he 
passed  they  did  him  reverence.  He  was  a  great 
churchman,  who  could  hurt  or  help  them,  soul  and 
body,  here  and  hereafter!  But  at  a  quieter  corner, 
before  a  pile  of  old,  dark  buildings,  he  came  upon, 
and  that  so  closely  that  his  mantle  almost  brushed 
them,  a  man  and  two  women,  poorly  dressed,  who 
stood  without  movement  or  appeal  for  blessing. 
Had  they  been  viewed  at  a  distance,  noted  merely 
for  three  stony  units  in  a  bending  crowd,  the 
bishop  had  been  too  superb  to  notice,  but  here 
they  were  under  his  nose,  unreverent,  stocks  be 
fore  his  eyes,  their  own  eyes  gazing  as  though  he 
were  not! 

Ugo  checked  his  mule,  spoke  sharply.  "Why, 
shameless  ones,  do  you  not  bend  to  Holy  Church, 
her  councillors  and  seneschals?" 

The  man  spoke.   "We  bend  to  God." 

"To  God  within,"  said  one  of  the  women.  "Not 
to  ill  within  —  not  to  luxury,  pomp,  and  tyranny!" 

"Woe!"  cried  the  other  woman,  the  younger. 

76 


THE  GARDEN 

"Woe  when  the  hearth  no  longer  warms,  but 
destroys!" 

"Bougres"  spoke  the  secretary  at  his  master's  ear. 
"Paulicians,  Catharists,  Bons  hommes,  Perfect!, 
Manichees." 

"That  is  to  say,  heretics,"  said  Ugo.  "They  grow 
hideously  bold,  having  Satan  for  saviour  and  surety! 
Take  order  for  these.  Lodge  complaint  against  them. 
See  them  laid  fast  in  prison." 

The  younger  woman  looked  at  him  earnestly. 
"Ah,  ah!"  she  said.  "Thou  poor  prisoner!  Let  me 
whisper  thee  —  there  is  a  way  out  of  thy  dark  hold ! 
If  only  the  door  is  not  too  high  and  wide  and  fully 
open  for  thine  eyes  to  see  it!  " 

"They  are  not  of  Roche-de-Frene,"  spoke  the 
secretary.  "I  warrant  them  from  Toulouse  or 
Albi!"  ' 

"I,  and  more  than  I,  have  eyes  upon  Count 
Raymond  of  Toulouse,"  said  the  bishop.  "Two  or 
three  of  you  take  these  wretches  to  the  right  officer. 
And  do  thou,  Nicholas,  appear  against  them  to 
morrow." 

He  touched  his  mule  with  his  riding  switch  and 
rode  on,  a  dark-browed  man,  with  a  thin  cheek  and 
thin,  close-shutting  lips.  He  was  a  martial  bishop; 
he  had  fought  in  Sicily  and  at  Damascus  and  Edessa, 
and  at  Constantinople. 

The  street  ran  steeply  upward,  closing  where,  in 
the  autumn  day,  there  spread  and  towered  the  cas 
tle.  Ugo,  approaching  moat  and  drawbridge,  put 

77 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

with  a  customary  action  his  hand  over  his  lips  and  so 
regarded  outer  and  inner  walls,  the  southward-facing 
barbican  and  the  towers  that  flanked  it,  —  Lion 
Tower  and  Red  Tower.  Men-at-arms  in  number 
lounged  within  the  gate,  straightening  when  the 
warder  cried  the  bishop's  train.  Ugo  took  his  hand 
from  his  lips  and  crossed  the  hollow-sounding  bridge. 
He  rode  beneath  the  portcullis  and  through  the  deep, 
reverberating,  vaulted  passage  opening  on  either 
hand  into  Lion  Tower  and  Red  Tower,  and  so  came 
to  the  court  of  dismounting,  where  esquires  and 
pages  started  into  activity.  From  here  he  was  mar 
shalled,  the  secretary  and  a  couple  of  canons  behind 
him,  to  the  Court  of  Honour,  where  met  him  other 
silken  pages. 

They  bowed  before  him.  "Lord  Bishop,  our  great 
ones  are  gathered  in  the  garden,  harkening  to  trou 
badours." 

One  of  higher  authority  came  and  took  the  word 
from  them.  "  My  lord,  I  will  lead  you  to  where  these 
rossignols  are  singing !  They  sing  in  honour  of  ladies, 
and  of  the  court's  guest,  the  duke  from  Italy  who 
would  marry  our  princess!" 

They  moved  through  a  noble,  great  hall,  bare  of 
all  folk  but  doorkeepers. 

"Will  the  match  be  made?"  asked  Ugo. 

"We  do  not  know,"  answered  his  conductor. 
"Our  Lady  Alazais  favours  it.  But  we  do  not  know 
the  mind  of  Prince  Gaucelm." 

Ugo  walked  in  silence.  His  own  mind  was  granting 

78 


THE  GARDEN 

with  anger  the  truth  of  that.  Presently  he  spoke  in 
a  measured  voice.  "  If  it  be  made,  it  will  be  a  fair 
alliance.  Undoubtedly  a  good  marriage!  For  say 
that  to  our  sorrow  Prince  Gaucelm  hath  never  a  son 
of  his  own,  then  it  may  come  that  his  daughter's  son 
rule  that  duchy  and  this  land." 

"Dame  Alazais,"  said  the  other  in  a  tone  of  dis 
creetness,  "hath  been  six  years  a  wife.  The  last 
pilgrimage  brought  naught,  but  the  next  may 
serve." 

11  Pray  Our  Lady  it  may ! "  answered  Ugo  with  lip- 
devoutness,  "and  so  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  become 
more  fortunate  yet.  —  The  Princess  Audiart  hath 
been  from  home." 

"Aye,  at  Our  Lady  in  Egypt's.  But  she  is  re 
turned,  the  prince  having  sent  for  her.  Hark! 
Raimon  de  Saint- R£my  is  singing." 

There  was  to  be  heard,  indeed,  a  fine,  manly  voice 
coming  from  where,  through  an  arched  exit,  they 
now  had  a  glimpse  of  foliage  and  sky.  It  sang  loudly 
and  boldly,  a  chanson  of  the  best,  a  paean  to  woman's 
lips  and  throat  and  breast,  a  proud,  determined 
declaration  of  slavery,  a  long,  melodious  cry  for  mis 
tress  mercy. 

The  bishop  stood  still  to  listen.  "Ha!"  he  said, 
"many  a  song  like  that  does  my  Lady  Alazais  hear ! " 

"Just,"  answered  his  companion.  "When  they 
look  on  her  they  begin  to  sing." 

Moving  forward  they  stood  within  the  door  that 
gave  upon  the  garden.  It  lay  before  them,  a  velvet 

79 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

sward  enclosed  by  walls,  with  a  high  watch-tower 
pricked  against  the  eastern  heavens. 

"It  is  a  great  pity,"  said  Ugo  guardedly,  "that 
the  young  princess  stands  so  very  far  from  her  step- 
dame's  loveliness!" 

"Aye,  the  court  holds  it  a  pity." 

"The  prince  hath  an  extraordinary  affection 
toward  her." 

"As  great  as  if  she  were  a  son!  She  hath  wit  to 
please  him,  —  though,"  said  he  who  acted  usher, 
"she  doth  not  please  every  one." 

They  passed  a  screen  of  fruit  trees  and  came  upon 
a  vision  first  of  formal  paths  with  grass,  flowers,  and 
aromatic  herbs  between,  then  of  a  wide  raised  space, 
stage  or  dais,  of  the  smoothest  turf  that  ever  was. 
It  had  a  backing  of  fruit  trees,  and  behind  these  of 
grey  wall  and  parapet,  and  it  was  attained  by  shal 
low  steps  of  stone.  On  these,  and  on  low  seats  and 
cushions  and  on  banks  of  turf,  sat  or  half- reclined 
men  and  women,  for  the  most  part  youthful  or  in 
the  prime  of  life.  Others  stood;  others,  men  and 
women,  away  from  the  raised  part,  strolled  through 
the  garden  that  here  was  formal  and  here  main 
tained  a  studied  rusticity.  The  men  wore  neither 
armour  nor  weapons,  save,  maybe,  a  dagger.  Men 
and  women  were  very  richly  dressed,  for  even  where 
was  perpetual  state,  this  was  an  occasion. 

In  a  greater  space  than  a  confined  castle  garden 
they  would  not  have  seemed  so  many ;  as  it  was  there 
appeared  a  throng.  In  reality  there  might  be  a  hun- 

80 


THE  GARDEN 

dred  souls.  The  castle  was  as  populous  as  an  ant- 
heap,  but  here  was  only  the  garland  of  the  castle. 
The  duke  who  was  seeking  a  mate  had  with  him  the 
very  spice-pink  of  his  own  court.  He  and  they  were 
of  the  garden.  The  festival  that  was  made  for  him 
had  drawn  neighbouring  barons  and  knights,  vas 
sals  of  Gaucelm.  There  was  no  time  when  such  a 
court  failed  to  entertain  travellers  of  note,  wander 
ing  knights,  envoys  of  sorts,  lords  going  in  state  to 
Italy  on  the  one  hand,  to  France  or  Spain  or  England 
on  the  other.  Of  such  birds  of  passage  several  were 
in  the  garden.  And  there  w^ere  troubadours  of  more 
than  local  fame,  poets  so  great  that  they  travelled 
with  their  own  servants  and  jongleurs.  When  the 
bishop  came  with  two  canons  in  his  train  there  were 
churchmen.  And,  moving  or  seated,  glowed  bright 
dames  and  damosels. 

But  in  the  centre  sat  Alazais,  and  she  seemed, 
indeed,  of  Venus's  meinie.  She  was  a  fair  beauty, 
with  deep-red,  perfect  lips,  and  a  curve  of  cheek  and 
throat  to  make  men  tremble.  Her  long  brown  eyes, 
set  well  apart,  had  a  trick  of  always  looking  from 
between  half-shut  lids.  Her  limbs  spoke  the  same 
languor,  and  yet  she  had  strength,  strength,  it 
seemed,  of  a  pard  or  a  great  serpent.  She  was  not 
pard  and  she  was  not  serpent;  she  was  not  evil.  She 
was  —  Alazais,  and  they  all  sang  to  her.  Even 
though  they  did  not  name  her  name;  even  though 
they  used  other  names. 

There  were  four  chairs  of  state,  though  not  set 

81 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

arow.  Only  two  were  occupied  —  that  in  which  sat 
ivory-and-gold  Alazais,  and  that  in  which  sat  the 
duke  who  had  come  to  view  Prince  Gaucelm's 
daughter.  The  duke  sat  over  against  Alazais,  with 
a  strip  of  green  grass  between.  He  was  not  beautiful : 
he  had  a  shrunk  form  and  a  narrow,  weazened  face. 
But  he  stared  at  the  beauty  before  him,  and  a  slight 
shiver  went  through  him  with  a  fine  prickling. 
"Madonna!"  he  thought.  "If  the  other  were  his 
wife,  and  this  his  daughter!" 

Ugo  came  to  the  green  level.  Alazais  rose  to  greet 
him  and  the  duke  followed  her.  He  had  informed 
himself  in  the  politics  of  Roche-de-Frene:  he  knew 
that  though  now  there  was  peace  between  prince 
and  bishop,  it  had  not  always  been  so  and  might  not 
be  so  again.  The  duke  was  no  great  statesman,  but 
to  every  one,  at  the  moment,  he  was  as  smooth  as  an 
innate,  cross-grained  imperiousness  would  let  him 
be.  A  fair  seat  was  found  for  my  lord  bishop, 
the  two  canons  and  the  secretary  standing  behind 
him. 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  said  Alazais,  "you  are  good  to 
grace  our  idle  time!  Our  poets  have  sung  and  will 
sing  again,  and  then  myself  and  all  these  ladies  are 
pledged  to  judge  of  a  great  matter.  Sir  Gilles  de 
Valence,  what  is  the  matter?" 

The  troubadour  addressed  bent  the  knee.  "  Prin 
cess,  the  history  of  Madame  Dido,  and  if  she  were 
not  the  supremest  servant  of  Love  who  would  not 
survive,  not  the  death  but  the  leave-taking  of  her 

82 


THE  GARDEN 

knight,  Messire  ^neas,  but  made  a  pyre  and  burned 
herself  thereon !  And  of  her  example,  as  lover,  to  fair 
ladies,  and  if  they  should  not,  emulating  her,  —  in 
a  manner  of  figure  and  not,  most  fair,  with  actual 
flames !  —  withdraw  themselves,  as  it  were,  from 
being  and  existence  throughout  the  time  that  flows 
between  the  leave-taking  and  coming  again  of  their 
knights.  And  of  Messire  ^Eneas,  and  if  Love  truly 
had  him  in  bonds." 

"Truly,  a  fair  matter!"  said  Ugo,  with  hidden 
scorn.  "Here  are  the  prince  and  the  Princess  Audi- 
art!" 

Dais  and  garden  broke  off  their  talk,  turned  with 
a  flash  of  colour  and  a  bending  movement  toward 
the  lord  of  the  land. 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  came  upon  the  scene  with 
an  easy  quietness.  He  was  a  large  man,  wearing  a 
bliaut  of  dark  silk,  richly  belted,  and  around  his 
hair,  that  was  a  silvering  brown,  a  fillet  or  circlet  of 
gold.  There  breathed  about  him  something  easy, 
humorous,  wise.  He  did  not  talk  much,  but  what  he 
said  was  to  the  purpose.  Now  he  had  a  profound 
and  brooding  look,  and  now  his  eye  twinkled.  In 
small  things  he  gave  way ;  where  he  saw  it  his  part 
to  be  firm  he  was  firm  enough.  Though  he  listened 
to  many,  the  many  did  not  for  ever  see  their  way 
taken.  He  may  have  been  religious,  but  he  exhibited 
little  or  nothing  of  his  time's  religiosity.  He  had  a 
stilly  way  of  liking  the  present  minute  and  putting 
much  into  it.  He  did  not  laugh  too  easily,  but  yet 

83 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

he  seemed  to  find  amusement  in  odd  corners  where 
none  else  looked  for  it.  He  was  not  fond  of  state,  but 
relaxed  it  when  he  could,  yet  kept  dignity.  He  came 
now  into  the  castle  garden  with  but  a  few  attending, 
and  beside  him,  step  for  step,  moved  the  young  prin 
cess,  his  daughter  Audiart. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    UGLY   PRINCESS 

SHE  had  a  way  of  dressing,  for  preference,  in  dark 
hues,  reds  like  wine  or  the  deeper  parts  of  rubies, 
blues  like  the  ripened  bunches  between  the  vineyard 
leaves,  browns  like  a  Martinmas  wood.  To-day  she 
wore  the  latter  hue.  Around  her  head  was  a  golden 
fillet,  but  no  other  tire.  She  wore  to-day  no  Eastern 
veil,  nor  did  her  long,  dark  hair,  securely  braided, 
give  shadow  to  her  face.  Her  shape  was  good,  a 
slender  shape,  endued  with  nervous  strength.  But 
her  face  showed  plain,  dark,  and  thin,  intelligent, 
but  with  features  irregular  beyond  the  ordinary. 
The  Court  of  Roche-de-Frene,  beneath  its  breath, 
called  her  the  Ugly  Princess.  She  sat  now  beside 
her  step-mother,  Alazais,  and  made  a  foil  for  that 
lovely  dame. 

In  the  past  two  generations  there  had  come  a  change 
in  the  world.  True  it  was  that  to  appearance  it  af 
fected  only  a  small  ring  —  only  the  top  strata,  the 
capstones  of  the  feudal  system ;  only  the  world  of 
lords  and  knights  and  poets  and  "ladies."  As  the 
jongleur  had  told  Garin,  it  was  not  supposed  to  de 
scend  to  shepherdesses.  Even  in  the  other  world  by 
no  means  was  it  always  present.  Sometimes  the  lack 
of  it  was  as  shocking  as  might  be.  Sometimes  it  was 

85 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

there  only  in  very  small  part,  only  in  unimportant 
issues.  Sometimes  it  was  mere  affectation.  Some 
times  it  was  used  as  a  mask,  and  behind  it  went  on 
ill  realities.  But  it  had  itself  come  into  the  world  as 
a  reality.  It  knew  motion  and  growth,  and  it  mani 
fested  itself,  though  in  degrees.  There  was  much 
alloy,  but  at  its  purest  and  best  it  was  a  golden 
thing,  a  flower  of  light.  It  called  itself  chivalric  love. 
Here  and  there  it  was  pure  and  in  action,  but  in 
between  and  all  around  was  imitation,  a  little  gold 
drawn  out  into  much  filagree.  The  filagree  was  the 
fashion;  it  drew  being  from  the  real,  but  the  depth 
of  its  being  was  slight.  But  it  was  the  fashion,  no 
doubt  of  that.  As  the  jongleur  had  said,  it  raged. 
Where  it  was  received,  in  court  and  castle,  hall  and 
bower,  sensuality  grew  sensuousness  with  sparks  of 
something  higher.  But  the  framework  of  feudal  so 
ciety  imposed  all  manner  of  restrictions.  The  elabo 
rate  gradation  of  rank,  the  perpetual  recurrence  of 
"lord  "  and  "vassal,"  the  swords  about  women,  mar 
riage  that  was  bargaining  for  wealth  and  power  —  all 
blocked  the  torrent's  natural  course.  Thrown  back 
upon  itself,  the  feeling  inbred  artifices  and  illusions, 
extravagances,  sometimes  monstrosities.  It  became 
the  mock-heroic,  the  pseudo-passionate.  It  culti 
vated  a  bright-hued  fungus  garden  of  sentimental 
ity.  It  rose  from  earth,  not  by  its  own  wings  but  by 
some  Icarian  apparatus  that  the  first  fire  scorched 
away.  It  picked  up  the  bright  dropped  feathers  of 
the  true  bird  of  Paradise,  but  though  it  made  a 

86 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

mantle  of  them,  its  own  hue  showed  beneath.  It 
did  not  understand  what  it  was  that  it  admired,  but 
it  made  a  cult  of  the  admiration.  .  .  .  And  yet  all  the 
while  there  was  something  real,  and  Extravagance 
and  Mistake  were  dimly  its  seekers.  Life  was  richer 
and  longer  of  stride  than  it  had  used  to  be.  A  host 
of  perceptions  had  at  last  melted  into  a  concept  of 
mutual  love  such  as  had  not  before  been  in  the  earth. 
Those  that  the  crown  fell  upon  might  be  silent  or 
not,  but  no  one  else  was  silent.  It  was  the  Discov 
ery  —  the  age's  Indies  —  and  polite  conversation 
came  round  to  it  as  the  needle  to  the  pole.  Nay, 
conversazioni  were  planned  to  discuss  this  and  this 
alone.  Troubadours  sang  in  contests  songs  of  love 

—  and  once  more  songs  of  love.  Now  and  again  they 
might  dispute  other  matters  in  a  tenso,  lash  the  time's 
recognized  vices  in  a  sirvente.   But  these  were  asides. 
Their  true  business  was  to  sing  of  love  and  lovers 
and  the  service  of  love.  Some  sang  with  a  springtime 
freshness,  force,  and  simplicity.    Some  took  all  that 
was  strained,  far-fetched,  and  hectic  in  the  time's 
regard  of  the   Discovery  and  made  of  it  a  heady 
drink. 

To-day  this  garden  sat  or  stood  to  consider  Love 

—  that   is,    to   consider  love  of  an   individual   of 
one  sex  for  an  individual  of  the  other.   Here  were 
knights  who,  when  they  fought,  tied  their  lady's 
sleeve  or  girdle  about  arm  or  helm.    Here  were 
troubadours  of  note,  each  of  whom  flung  far  and 
wide  through  the  land  the  praise  of  some  especial 

87 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

fair.  And  here  were  women  who  were  thus  praised 
and  sung. 

The  age  greatly  lauded  virginity  in  the  abstract. 
But  —  saving  the  saints  in  heaven  and  abbesses  on 
earth  —  precedence  in  fact  was  given  by  the  world 
of  chivalry  to  the  married  woman.  Public  opinion 
required  of  wedded  great  dames  —  perhaps  in  most 
cases  received  —  essential  regard  for  their  lords' 
honour.  This  granted,  for  love  they  were  let  turn 
elsewhere.  Theirs  chiefly,  though  not  solely,  were 
the  knights,  the  troubadours,  the  incense,  the  poesy. 
Marriage  came  so  early,  marriage  was  so  plainly  the 
rule,  that  the  unwed  in  evidence  —  the  throngs  of 
nuns  making  another  story  —  were  almost  always 
young  girls  indeed,  buds  of  flowers,  somewhat  ill  at 
ease  with  the  opened  roses.  But  largely  they  were 
of  the  rose  kind,  and,  in  the  bloomy  ring  of  wedded 
dames,  sighed  to  in  canzons,  "fair  friends"  of  knight 
and  poet,  but  saw  themselves  a  little  further  on. 
Those  in  the  garden  were  not  of  the  very  youngest, 
and  they  were  used  to  courts  and  not  ill  at  ease. 
They  were  rosebuds  very  sweet,  and  they  took  their 
share  of  lauds.  From  them  all  the  ugly  princess  dif 
fered  subtly. 

It  was  not  merely  that  she  differed  when  faces 
were  compared.  What  others  might  think  could  not 
of  course  appear,  but  the  duke,  who  had  considered 
an  alliance  with  Roche-de-Fr£ne,  thought  her  defi 
cient  in  every  power  to  please.  It  was  right  enough 
that,  in  the  presence  of  her  father  and  step-dame, 

88 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

before  the  perhaps  oppressive  loom  of  her  own  pos 
sible  good  fortune,  she  should  keep  silence.  But  she 
should  look  fair  and  complying,  not  be  such  an  one 
that  the  world  might  say,  "Our  Duke  chose  a  poor 
little  land,  under  a  gloomy  sky ! "  And  when  she  did 
speak  she  should  speak  with  sense  and  ci  propos.  As 
it  was,  she  spoke  folly. 

For  instance.  There  had  been  introduced  a  jon 
gleur,  a  Babylonish-looking  fellow,  who  had  narrated 
at  length  and  with  action  the  history  of  Dido.  He 
had  ended  amid  acclaim  and  had  been  given  largesse. 
Following  the  lesser  art  and  performer  had  come  the 
major  —  burst  into  song  the  troubadours.  They 
parted  between  them  the  passion  of  the  Carthaginian 
Queen.  One  took  the  May  of  it,  one  the  July,  one 
the  Winter.  They  soared  to  Olympus  and  pleaded 
it  before  the  Court  of  Love;  they  came  down  to 
Europe  and  placed  it  in  the  eye  of  brave  knights  and 
sweet  ladies.  The  duke  was  moved.  He  began  to 
lean  toward  Alazais;  then,  policy  and  the  beauty  of 
a  virtuous  action  prevailing,  he  bent  instead  toward 
the  only  one  there  who  could  link  together  his  duke 
dom  and  Roche-de-Frene.  "Fair,  sweet  princess, 
what  think  you  of  this  great  lover,  Queen  Dido?" 

Then  had  the  changeling  shown  oddness  and  folly. 
She  lifted  eyes  that  were  vair  or  changeable,  and 
neither  shy  nor  warm,  and  spoke  in  a  voice  as  dry 
as  a  Candlemas  reed.  "I  hold,"  she  said,  "that  in 
that  matter  of  the  bull's  hide,  she  was  wise." 

She  said  no  more  and  her  eyes  fell  again  upon  her 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

long,  brown  hands.  They  were  as  brown  as  a  berry ; 
they  looked  as  though  she  had  been  roving  like  an 
Egyptian.  The  duke  had  a  strong  movement  of  dis 
taste.  She  appeared  to  him  as  Babylonish  as  the 
jongleur. 

The  court  seemed  used  to  her.  Naturally,  it 
failed  in  no  observance.  She  had  her  ladies,  and  a 
page  stood  at  her  call.  The  troubadours  when  they 
sang  bent  to  her  as  they  bent  to  the  other  chairs  of 
state.  Lord  and  knight  made  due  obeisance.  That 
marvellous  Alazais  spoke  to  her  ever  and  anon,  and 
she  answered.  But  her  words  were  few  and  short; 
the  duke  saw  that  she  had  not  the  gift  of  discourse. 
He  saw  no  gift  that  she  had.  Certainly,  she  was  not 
trying  to  please  a  great  duke.  It  was  not  that  she 
showed  any  discourtesy  —  that  were  impossible. 
But  there  was  no  right  sense  of  his  presence.  She 
sat,  young  and  without  beauty,  unsmiling,  her  eyes 
now  upon  the  watch  tower  drawn  against  the  blue, 
and  now  upon  the  face  of  the  singer.  They  said  that 
Prince  Gaucelm  doated  upon  her.  He  was  her  father 
—  let  him  doat ! 

"What  shall  a  knight  do  for  his  lady? 
He  shall  love  her,  love  her,  pardie!" 

sangGilles  de  Valence,  reprobation  of  Messire  ^neas 
being  now  in  hand. 

"All  his  nights  and  all  his  days 
He  shall  study  but  her  praise. 
Her  word  against  all  words  he  weigheth, 
Saith  she  'Stay/  in  joy  he  stayeth. 
90 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

Saith  she  'Go,'  all  meek  he  goeth. 
A  heart  in  chains  is  all  he  knoweth, 
From  other  wit  release  he  showeth ! 
Wit  may  plead,  but  Love  is  nigher, 
Jove  may  call,  but  Love  calls  higher! 
What  shall  a  knight  do  for  his  lady? 
He  shall  love  her,  love  her,  pardie! 
All  his  nights  and  all  his  days, 
He  shall  study  but  her  praise!" 

Applause  arose.  Raimon  de  Saint- Remy  took  his 
lute.  But  the  duke  noted  how  stiff  and  silent  sat  the 
ugly  princess. 

The  entertainment  of  that  forenoon  over,  they 
went  to  dinner  —  a  considerable  concourse,  so  con 
siderable  that  when  all  were  seated  the  great  hall 
appeared  to  blossom  like  the  garden.  At  the  table 
of  state  sat  the  prince  and  Alazais  and  the  Princess 
Audiart,  the  duke,  Bishop  Ugo,  and  three  or  four 
others  whom  Gaucelm  would  honour.  Musicians 
played  in  a  gallery.  Waiting  men  in  long  procession 
brought  the  viands  —  venison  and  peacocks,  pasties 
of  all  kinds,  mutton,  spitted  small  birds,  wheaten 
bread  —  a  multitude  of  matters.  Afterwards  came 
cakes  and  tarts,  with  many  fruits.  Always  there  was 
wine  served  in  rich  cups.  The  oddity  to  a  later  taste 
would  have  been  the  excess  of  seasoning,  —  the  pep 
per,  saffron,  ginger,  cloves,  the  heat  and  pungency 
of  the  solid  meats,  —  and  then  the  honey  dropped 
in  wine.  At  the  prince's  table  a  knight  carved,  at 
the  others  the  noblest  esquires.  The  apparel  of  the 
tables  was  rich;  there  were  gold  and  silver  vessels 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

of  many  sorts,  dishes,  bowls,  fine  knives  and  spoons, 
—  but,  high  and  low,  no  fork. 

The  hall  was  very  large,  and  so  the  talk  of  many 
people,  subdued  in  tone  as,  of  late  years,  good  man 
ners  had  learnt  to  demand,  created  no  more  than  a 
pleasant  deep  humming.  For  the  most  part  the  talk 
ran  upon  love,  arms,  and  policy,  the  latest,  most 
resounding  public  events,  and  the  achievements  and 
abilities,  personal  adventures  and  misadventures,  of 
various  members  of  the  company.  At  the  raised 
table  it  was  high  politics  and  what  was  occurring  in 
the  world  of  rulers,  for  that  was  what  the  duke  liked 
to  talk  about  and  the  prince  bent  the  conversation 
to  suit  his  guest.  Bishop  Ugo  liked  it,  too.  Ugo's 
mind  ran  at  times  from  realm  to  realm,  but  there 
was  a  main  land  in  which  he  was  most  at  home.  In 
that  he  passioned,  schemed,  and  strove  for  Holy 
Church's  temporal  no  less  than  spiritual  ascendancy. 
The  Hohenstauffen  and  Pope  Alexander  —  Guelph 
and  Ghibelline  —  Church  and  Empire  —  the  new, 
young  French  King  Philip,  suzerain  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  —  Henry  the  Second  of  England  and  his  sons, 
specifically  his  son  Richard,  not  so  far  from  here, 
in  Aquitaine  —  so  ran  the  talk.  The  visiting  duke 
spoke  much,  in  the  tone  of  peer  to  them  of  whom  he 
spoke.  Ugo  listened  close-lipped ;  now  and  then  he 
entered  eloquently,  and  always  in  the  Papal  service. 
The  prince  said  little.  It  was  not  easy  to  discover 
where  he  stood.  The  barons  at  the  table  took  judi 
cious  part.  The  dazzling  Alazais  displayed  a  flatter- 

92 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

ing  interest,  and  the  duke,  noting  that,  gave  his 
destrier  further  rein,  shook  a  more  determined  lance. 
He  spoke  of  that  same  Richard,  Duke  of  Aquitaine, 
a  man  much  talked  of  by  his  time,  and  he  related 
instances  that  showed  that  Richard's  strength  and 
weakness.  He  bore  hard  upon  a  fantastic  generosity 
which,  appealed  to,  could  at  times  make  Richard 
change  and  forsake  his  dearest  plans. 

The  Princess  Audiart  sipped  her  wine.  She  heard 
the  duke  as  in  a  dream.  Atop  of  all  the  voices  in  the 
hall  her  mind  was  off  in  a  forest  glade.  .  .  .  She 
looked  across  at  the  prince  her  father.  She  had  not 
told  him  of  that  adventure  —  of  how  she  had  des 
perately  tired  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt  and  of  her  aunt 
the  Abbess  and  of  most  of  her  own  women,  and 
would  spend  one  day  a-shepherdessing,  and  had 
done  so.  She  was  going  to  tell  him  —  even  though 
she  reckoned  on  some  anger.  She  had  for  Gaucelm 
a  depth  of  devotion.  ...  A  forest  glade,  and  an  evil 
knight  and  a  squire  in  brown  and  green  —  and  now 
what  were  they  talking  of? 

That  afternoon  half  the  court  rode  out  a-hawking. 
The  prince  did  not  go;  he  was  heavy  now  for  the 
saddle.  But  the  duke  rode,  and  the  two  princesses. 
The  day  was  good,  the  sport  was  fair;  the  great 
thing,  air  and  exercise,  all  obtained  without  thinking 
of  it.  There  was  much  mirthful  sound,  laughter, 
men's  voices  and  women's  voices.  Alazais  dazzled; 
so  fair  was  she  on  her  white  palfrey  that  had.  its 
mane  tied  with  little  silver  bells.  The  duke  rode 

93 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

constantly  by  her  side.  The  Princess  Audiart  had 
for  escort  Stephen  the  Marshal,  a  goodly  baron  and 
knight.  The  duke  was  well  and  correct  where  he 
was,  Alazais  being  Gaucelm's  princess,  and  his  host 
ess.  Manners  demanded  toward  the  younger  prin 
cess  a  decorum  of  restraint  and  distance.  Only  this 
restraint  should  have  been  managed  with  an  ex 
quisite  semblance  of  repressed  ardour,  with  a  fine 
ness  of  "Truly  a  fair  and  precious  link  between 
Houses!"  This  it  was  that  was  missing,  and  noted 
as  missing  by  every  knight  and  lady  that  went 
a-hawking. 

The  return  to  the  castle  was  made  in  the  sunset- 
glow.  Supper  followed,  and  after  supper  a  short 
interval  of  repose.  Then  all  met  again  in  the  cleared 
hall  and  the  musicians  began  to  play.  Gaucelm  in 
red  samite  sat  upon  the  dais,  and  by  him  the  duke 
in  purple.  Alazais,  in  white,  with  a  jewelled  zone 
and  a  mantle  hued  like  flame,  looked  Venus  come 
to  earth.  Beside  her  sat  the  ugly  princess  in  dark 
blue  over  a  silver  robe. 

Before  them,  on  the  floor  of  the  hall,  knights  and 
ladies  trod  an  intricate  measure.  Great  candles 
burned,  viols  and  harps,  the  jongleurs  played  their 
best,  varlets  stationed  by  the  walls  scattered  Eastern 
perfumes.  The  duke,  with  a  word  to  the  prince  his 
host,  rose  and  bending  to  Alazais  offered  his  hand. 
All  watched  this  couple  —  the  measure  over,  all 
acclaimed.  The  duke  led  Alazais  again  to  the  dais, 
then  did  what  others  must  expect  of  him  and  he  of 

94 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

himself.  "Fair,  sweet  lady,"  he  said  to  Gaucelm's 
daughter.  "Will  you  grace  me  with  this  measure?" 

The  ugly  princess  gave  him  her  finger-tips.  He 
led  her  upon  the  floor  and  they  danced.  As  the 
measure,  formal  and  stately,  dictated,  now  they  took 
attitudes  before  each  other,  now  they  came  together, 
palms  and  fingers  touching,  now  again  parted.  They 
were  watched  with  strong  interest  by  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  hall,  by  both  the  Court  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  and  the  duke's  following.  A  marriage  such  as 
this  —  say,  what  men  began  to  doubt,  that  it  came 
to  pass  —  by  no  means  concerned  only  the  two  who 
married.  Thousands  of  folk  were  concerned,  their 
children  and  their  children's  children. 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  watched  from  his  dais 
and  his  great  chair,  where  he  sat  with  bent  elbow 
and  his  chin  resting  upon  his  hand.  Sitting  so,  he 
opened  his  other  hand  and  looked  again  at  a  small 
piece  of  cotton  paper  that  had  been  slipped  within 
it.  Upon  the  paper  appeared,  in  the  up-and-down, 
architectural  writing  of  the  period,  these  words: 
"Messire,  my  father;  do  not,  of  your  good  pity, 
make  me  wed  this  lord!  I  will  be  unhappy.  You 
will  be  unhappy.  He  will  be  unhappy.  I  do  think 
that  our  lands  and  his  lands  will  be  unhappy.  Mes- 
sire  my  father,  I  do  not  wish  to  wed."  Prince  Gau 
celm  closed  his  hand  and  watched  again. 

The  duke  was  dancing  stiffly,  with  a  bad  grace 
masked  as  well  as  he  could  mask  anything  that  he 
truly  felt.  He  wished  to  be  prudent,  and  certainly 

95 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

it  were  not  prudent  to  give  to  Roche-de-Frene  either 
open  or  secret  offence.  Not  yet,  even,  had  he  deter 
mined.  —  He  yet  might,  and  he  might  not  —  But 
he  was  an  arrogant  man  and  a  vain,  and  to  his  own 
mind  it  was  important  that  the  world  should  not 
think  he  was  fooled.  Lasting  love  between  lord  and 
lady,  duke  and  duchess,  mattered,  forsooth,  little 
enough!  It  was  not  in  the  bond.  When  it  came  to 
beauty,  he  had  seen  great  queens  without  beauty 
of  face  or  form.  But  the  duke,  though  he  had  it 
not  himself,  demanded  that  beauty  in  any  woman 
immediately  about  him,  and  with  it  complaisance, 
bent  head,  and  burning  of  incense.  And  he  wished 
men  to  envy  him,  in  some  sort,  all  his  goods,  includ 
ing  the  woman  whom  he  would  make  duchess.  That 
was  where  Gaucelm  was  fortunate.  What  living 
man,  thought  the  duke,  but  would  like  to  take  from 
him  golden  Alazais? 

He  danced  as  starkly  as  though  he  were  in  hau 
berk  and  helmet,  and  his  hand  might  have  been 
mailed,  so  stiffly  did  it  touch  Audiart's  hand.  Who 
would  envy  him  this  Egyptian?  He  never  noted  if 
she  danced  well  or  ill,  if  she  had  some  grace  of 
body  or  no ;  he  looked  for  no  expression  in  her  face 
that  he  might  admire.  She  was  outlandish  —  ugly. 
There  was  —  as  would  have  become  such  a  change 
ling  —  no  awe  of  him,  no  tremulous  fear  lest  she 
should  not  please.  He  had  an  injured,  hot  heart 
within  him.  Report  had  been  too  careless,  bringing 
him  only  news  that  here  was  a  marriageable  prin- 


THE  UGLY  PRINCESS 

cess.  He  blamed  his  councillors,  determined  to  with 
draw  his  favour  from  one  who  had  been  called  his 
bosom  friend,  but  who  had  advocated  this  match. 
He  blamed  Gaucelm,  who,  to  his  elaborate  letter, 
had  answered  only  with  an  invitation  to  visit  Roche- 
de-Fr£ne.  He  should  have  said:  ''Fair  lord,  you  do 
my  daughter  too  much  honour,  who,  you  must 
know  —  "  But  chiefly  the  duke  blamed  that  princess 
herself. 

The  measure  was  over.  The  duke  and  the  princess 
returned  to  the  dais.  The  jongleurs  played  loudly. 
The  candles  burned,  the  flung  perfumes  floated 
through  the  hall.  The  music  hid  the  whispers. 
Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  sat  with  a  slight  smile,  his 
chin  upon  his  hand.  For  an  interlude  there  was 
brought  upon  the  floor  the  jongleur  who  had  made 
part  of  the  forenoon's  entertainment.  Elias  of 
Montaudon  he  called  himself,  and  he  was  skilful 
beyond  the  ordinary  with  balls  of  coloured  glass  and 
Eastern  platters  and  daggers. 

The  ugly  princess  wished  the  taste  of  that  dance 
taken  from  her  lips.  She  watched  the  jongleur,  and 
because  he  was  all  in  brown  and  yellow  like  an 
autumn  leaf  and  was  as  light  as  one  and  as  quick  as 
a  woodland  creature,  he  brought  the  country  to  her 
mind  and  made  her  see  forests  and  streams.  Her 
mother  had  been  a  mountain  lady,  and  she  herself 
would  have  liked  to  rove  the  earth.  She  sat  still,  her 
gaze  straight  before  her,  seeing  the  coloured  balls, 
but  beyond  them  imagined  lands  and  wanderings. 

97 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

The  duke  spoke  across  to  the  prince  her  father, 
and  the  words  came  clean  and  clear  to  her  hearing, 
and  to  that  of  Stephen  the  Marshal  and  others 
standing  near.  "I  have  had  letters,  sir,"  said  the 
duke,  "which  make  me  to  think  that  I  am  required 
at  home." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TOURNAMENT 

THE  next  morning  they  heard  mass  in  the  castle 
chapel.  The  hour  was  early,  the  world  all  drenched 
with  autumn  dews.  The  prince  and  the  duke  and 
Alazais  the  Fair  and  Audiart,  and  behind  them  many 
knights  and  ladies,  kneeled  on  the  stone  flooring 
between  the  sparks  of  the  altar-lamps  and  the  pink 
morning  light.  The  chanted  Latin  rose  and  fell,  the 
bell  rang,  all  bent.  In  came  a  lance  of  sunlight  and 
the  vagrant  morning  breeze.  Mass  over,  all  flowed 
into  the  paved  court.  For  to-day  there  was  ar 
ranged  in  the  duke's  honour,  a  splendid  tourney. 
Many  a  good  knight  would  joust  —  the  duke  also, 
it  was  said.  Two  hours,  and  the  trumpets  would 
sound.  The  court  was  glad  when  the  great  folk 
turned  away  with  their  immediate  people,  and  the 
rest  of  the  world  could  begin  to  prepare. 

Prince  Gaucelm  did  not  tilt.  When  he  was  young 
he  had  proved  himself  preux  chevalier.  Now  he  was 
not  so  young,  and  his  body  weighed  heavy,  and  all 
his  striving  was  to  be  prud'homme.  When  he  came 
to  his  chamber  in  the  great  donjon  he  dismissed 
from  it  all  save  a  chamberlain  and  a  page,  and  the 
latter  he  sent  to  the  princess  his  daughter  with  a 
message  that  she  might  come  to  him  now  as  she 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

had  asked.  In  as  few  minutes  as  might  be  she 
came. 

There  was  a  window  looking  to  the  east,  over  the 
castle  wall  and  moat  and  forth  upon  the  roofs  of  the 
town.  The  prince  had  here  a  great  chair  and  a  bench 
with  cushions,  and  the  princess  was  to  sit  upon  the 
bench.  Instead  she  came  and  stood  beside  him,  and 
then  slipped  to  her  knees  and  rested  her  head 
against  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "My  good  father,"  she 
said,  "my  wise  father,  my  dear  father,  do  you  love 
me?" 

"You  know  that  I  love  you,"  answered  Gaucelm, 
and  put  his  hand  upon  her  head. 

"  If  you  do,  then  it  is  all  safe." 

Gaucelm  slightly  laughed.  In  the  sound  was  both 
amusement  and  anger.  "But  my  guest  the  duke," 
he  said,  "does  not  love  you." 

"He  loves  me  most  vilely!"  said  the  ugly  princess 
with  energy. 

Prince  Gaucelm  mused.  "Shall  I  show  offence  or 
no?  I  have  not  decided." 

"Why  show  offence?"  said  the  ugly  princess.  "I 
am  as  I  am,  and  he  is  as  he  is.  Let  him  go,  with 
smiles  and  a  stirrup-cup,  and  a  '  Fair  lord,  well  met 
and  well  parted!'" 

"He  is  a  foolish  man." 

"There  are  many  such  —  and  women.  Let  him 
go.  I  grudge  him  no  happiness,  nor  a  fair  wife." 

The  ugly  princess  rose  from  the  floor  and  went  and 
stood  by  the  window.  Doves  that  Gaucelm  cher- 

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ished  flew  from  their  cote  in  the  Court  below  across 
and  across  the  opening.  One  caine  and  'slat  iupq^tji^ 
sill  and  preened  its  feathers. 

"This  question  of  fairness  has  many  aspects," 
said  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate.  "The  cover  in  which 
you  are  clad  is  not  so  bad ! — Well,  let  us  take  it  that 
this  great  baron  is  gone." 

"  I  will  make  an  offering  to  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de- 
Frene!  But  I  will  thank  you,  too,  —  and  most,  I 
think." 

"  It  rests,"  said  Gaucelm,  "that  you  must  marry." 

"Ah,  must  I  so  surely?" 

Prince  Gaucelm  regarded  her  ponderingly,  with 
bent  brows.  "What  is  there  else  for  women?  You 
will  not  be  a  nun?" 

"Not  I!" 

"Fief  by  fief,"  said  Gaucelm,  " Roche-de-Frene 
was  built,  now  by  conquest  and  now  by  alliance. 
If  I  have  no  son,  you  are  my  heir.  There  is  a  bell 
that  rings  in  all  men's  ears.  Make  for  your  heir  be 
times  a  prudent  marriage,  adding  land  to  land,  gold  to 
gold!" 

"  Does  it  ring  so  joyously  in  your  ears?  It  does  not 
ring  joyously  in  mine.  No,  nor  with  a  goodly,  solemn 
sound!" 

"It  is  the  world's  way,"  said  the  prince.  "I  do 
not  know  if  it  is  the  right  way." 

The  Princess  Audiart  watched  the  dove,  iris 
against  the  morning  sky,  then  turned,  full  face,  to 
her  father.  " I  am  not  fair,"  she  said.  "Men  who 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

want  just  that  will  never  want  me.  It  seems  to  me 
also  that  I  am  not  <oving.  At  times,  when  I  listen 
to  what  they  say,  I  want  to  laugh.  I  can  see  great 
love.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  what  they  see  is  not 
great  love.  .  .  .  Well,  but  we  marry  without  love! 
Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  that  is  very  irksome!  — 
Well,  but  you  may  have  a  knight  to  love,  so  that  it 
be  courtly  love  and  your  lord's  honour  goes  unhurt! 
Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  that  is  children's  love.  —  I 
wish  not  to  marry,  but  to  stay  here  and  learn  and 
learn  and  learn,  and  with  you  rule  and  serve  Roche- 
de-Frene!" 

In  the  distance  a  horn  was  winded.  The  mounting 
sun  struck  strongly  upon  the  roofs  of  Roche-de- 
Frene.  The  dove  spread  its  wings  and  flew  down  to 
its  cote.  Voices  and  a  sound  of  trampling  hoofs  came 
from  the  court,  and  a  nearer  trumpet  blew. 

"Time  and  the  mind  have  wings,"  said  Prince 
Gaucelm,  "and  it  is  not  well  to  look  too  far  into  the 
future!"  He  rose  from  his  chair.  "Load  not  the 
camel  and  the  day  too  heavily !  Let  us  go  now  and 
watch  the  knights  joust." 

The  tournament  was  held  without  the  walls,  in 
a  long  meadow  sunk  like  a  floor  between  verdant 
slopes  of  earth.  At  either  end  were  pavilions,  pitched 
for  those  who  jousted.  Midway  of  the  lists  appeared 
a  wreathed  platform,  silken-canopied,  built  for  the 
great.  Right  and  left  of  this  space  of  honour  was 
found  place  for  men-at-arms  and  castle  retainers, 
and  likewise  for  the  magistrates  of  the  town  and  the 

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more  important  burghers.  But  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lists  there  were  slopes  of  turf  with  out-cropping 
stones  and  an  occasional  well-placed  tree,  and  here 
the  town  poured  out  its  workers,  men  and  women. 
The  crowd  was  cheerful.  There  surged  a  loud,  beat 
ing  sea  of  talk.  Up  and  down  and  across  sprang 
glitter  and  light,  with  sharp  notes  of  colour.  Squires 
and  men-at-arms,  heralds  and  pages  gave  their 
quota.  Nor  did  there  lack  priest  and  pilgrim,  —  and 
that  though  the  Church  thundered  against  tourna 
ments,  —  Jew,  free-lance  and  travelling  merchant, 
jongleur  and  stroller.  All  was  gay  beneath  a  bright 
blue  sky,  and  esquires  held  the  knights'  horses  before 
the  painted  pavilions. 

The  trumpets  blew,  and  out  of  the  castle  gates  and 
down  the  road  cut  in  the  living  rock  came  the  great 
folk.  When  they  reached  the  meadow  and  the  gal 
lery  built  for  them,  and  when  presently  all  were 
seated,  it  was  like  a  long  bank  of  flowers,  coloured 
glories.  At  each  end  of  the  lists  waited  twenty 
knights  in  mail  with  painted  surcoats.  Between, 
over  the  green  meadow,  rode  and  staidly  consulted 
the  marshals.  Horses  neighed,  metal  jingled,  the 
folk  laughed,  talked,  gesticulated,  now  and  then  dis 
puted.  Jongleurs  picked  at  stringed  instruments, 
trumpeters  made  a  gay  shower  of  notes.  Towers 
and  battlements  closed  the  scene,  and  the  walled 
town  spread  upon  the  hilltop. 

The  prince  did  not  tilt,  but  the  duke  had  granted 
that  during  the  day  he  would  splinter  one  lance.  His 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

pavilion  was  therefore  pitched,  his  shield  hung  before 
it,  and  two  esquires  walked  up  and  down  with  a  great 
black  stallion.  Now,  with  Stephen  the  Marshal  and 
with  his  own  knights,  he  left  the  gallery  of  honour 
and  went  to  arm  himself.  Edging  the  lists  ran  a 
pathway,  wide  enough  for  two  horsemen  abreast. 
A  railing  divided  it  from  the  throng.  As  the  duke 
and  his  party  passed  along  this  road,  the  crowd, 
suddenly  learning  or  conjecturing  that  here  was  the 
lord  in  whose  honour  was  planned  the  tournament, 
craned,  many-headed,  that  way.  It  was  very  im 
portant  to  know  if  this  lord  were  going  to  wed  the 
princess !  There  were  townsmen  who  had  caught  the 
word  and  called  her  the  ugly  princess.  As  yet  they 
did  not  know  much  about  her,  though  they  saw  her 
ride  through  the  streets  with  her  father,  and  that 
she  looked  at  the  people  not  with  haughtiness  but 
attentively.  Of  Alazais  they  were  proud.  Merchants 
of  Roche-de-Frene,  when  they  travelled  far  away 
and  there  insinuated  the  praises  of  home,  bragged  of 
the  beauty  of  their  lord's  wife.  Her  name  was  known 
in  Eastern  bazaars.  —  But  if  there  was  to  be  a  mar 
riage  it  was  important,  and  important  to  know  the 
looks  of  the  bridegroom. 

Some  crowding  took  place,  some  pressing  against 
the  wooden  barrier.  At  one  point  a  plane  tree,  old 
and  gnarled,  stretched  a  bough  above  the  pathway. 
It  made  a  superb  tower  of  observation  and  as  such 
had  been  seized  upon.  The  duke,  walking  with  the 
marshal,  and  approaching  this  tree,  became  aware  of 

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folk  aloft,  thick  as  fruit  upon  the  bough,  half -hidden 
by  the  bronzing  leaves,  and  more  vocal  than  else 
where.  Certain  judgements  floated  down. 

Holiday  and  festival  encouraged  licence  of  speech. 
The  time  enforced  a  reality  of  obedience  from  rank 
to  rank,  but  that  provided  for,  cared  not  to  prevent 
mere  wagging  of  tongues.  The  ruling  castes  never 
thought  it  out,  but  had  they  done  so  they  might 
have  said  that  it  was  not  amiss  that  the  people  should 
somewhere  indemnify  themselves.  Let  them  laugh, 
exercise  their  wit,  so  that  it  grew  not  too  caustic  — • 
be  merry-hearted,  bold,  and  familiar!  Who  held  the 
land  held  them,  but  it  was  pleasanter  for  the  lord 
himself  when  the  land  knew  jollity.  Add  that  the 
courts  of  the  south  were  more  democratic  than  those 
of  the  north,  and  that  Gaucelm  was  a  democratic 
prince. 

The  duke  was  of  another  temper,  —  a  martinet 
and  a  stickler  for  respect  on  the  part  of  the  vulgar. 
He  caught  the  comment  and  flushed.  "An  unman 
nerly  people!"  he  said  to  Stephen  the  Marshal. 

That  baron  darted  an  experienced  glance.  "They 
are  the  younger,  mechanical  sort.  Take  no  heed  of 
them,  fair  lord." 

The  remark  caught  had  not  been  ill-natured,  was 
more  jocose  than  turbulent,  might  pass  where  any 
freedom  of  speech  was  accorded.  But  suddenly  came 
clearly  from  the  bough  of  the  plane  tree  a  genuinely 
seditious  utterance.  Given  forth  in  a  round,  nat 
urally  sonorous  voice,  it  carried  further  than  the 

105 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

speaker  intended.  "One  day  a  burgher  will  be  as 
good  as  a  duke!" 

The  great  folk  were  almost  beneath  that  wide- 
spreading  bough.  They  looked  sharply  up  —  the 
duke,  Stephen  the  Marshal,  all  the  knights.  The 
voice  said  on,  like  an  oracle  aloft  among  the  leaves: 
"The  man  in  my  skin  is  n't  any  less  than  the  man  in 
his  skin.  I  say  that  one  day  — " 

A  branch  that  had  served  to  steady  the  oracle 
suddenly  broke,  snapping  short.  Amid  ejaculations, 
oracle  and  branch  came  together  to  earth.  Down 
they  tumbled,  on  the  inner  side  of  the  barrier,  upon 
the  grassy  path  before  the  duke  and  Stephen  the 
Marshal. 

Laughter  arose  with,  on  the  knights'  side,  some 
angry  exclamation.  The  fallen  man  got  hastily  to 
his  feet.  "The  branch  was  rotten — "  He  put  a 
hand  to  either  side  his  head,  seemed  to  settle  it  upon 
his  shoulders  and  recover  his  wits.  "Give  me  par 
don,  good  lords,  for  tumbling  there  like  a  pippin  — " 
He  was  a  young  man,  square-shouldered  and  sturdy, 
with  crisply  curling  black  hair,  a  determined  mouth, 
and  black,  bold,  and  merry  eyes. 

Stephen  the  Marshal  spoke  sternly.  "That  bough 
brought  you  to  earth,  Thibaut  Canteleu,  but,  an 
you  rein  it  not,  your  tongue  will  bring  you  into 
earth!" 

The  offender  turned  his  cap  in  his  hand.  "  I  spoke 
not  to  be  heard  by  great  lords,"  he  said.  "I  know 
not  that  I  said  harm.  I  said  that,  change  my  lord 

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duke  and  me,  and  I  might  make  a  fair  duke,  and  he 
a  fair  master-saddler  and  worker  in  Cordovan!  I 
think  that  he  might,  and  I  will  tell  you  that  it  taketh 
skill—" 

The  duke  saw  fit  to  laugh,  though  after  an  irri 
tated  and  peevish  fashion.  "Roche-de-Frene,"  he 
said,  ''breeds  fair  princesses  and  townsmen  with 
limber  tongues!  —  Well,  my  Lord  Stephen,  let  us 
not  tarry  here!" 

Lords  and  knights  passed  on  toward  the  pavilions. 
Thibaut  Canteleu,  pressed  aside,  stood  close  to  the 
barrier  until  they  were  gone,  then  put  his  hands 
upon  the  rail  and  swung  himself  up  and  over.  The 
folk,  men  and  women,  received  him  with  laughter, 
and  some  admiration,  and  he  laughed  at  himself. 
Being  a  holiday,  that  was  the  best  thing  to  do. 

A  jongleur,  a  dark  Moorish-looking  fellow  in  yel 
low  and  brown,  accosted  him.  "Thou  poor  mad 
house  citizen!  Burgher  and  knight,  lion  and  lamb, 
priest  and  heretic,  pope  and  paynim,  villein  and 
lord,  jongleur  and  troubadour,  Jean  and  Jeanne,  let 
us  all  go  to  heaven  together!" 

"We  might,"  answered  Thibaut  Canteleu  stur 
dily.  "That  is  a  fine  lute  of  thine!  Play  us  a  tune 
while  we  wait." 

"Not  I!"  said  the  jongleur  coolly.  "It  would 
demean  me.  Last  night  I  gave  a  turn  of  my  art  in 
the  hall  up  yonder,  before  the  prince  and  all  his 
court.  —  Who  is  this  coming  now,  with  a  green-and- 
silver  banner  and  fifty  men  behind  him?" 

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THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

The  meadow  was  pitched  by  the  high  road  running 
from  the  north,  and  now  from  this  road  there  turned 
toward  the  lists,  the  holiday  crowd,  and  the  wreathed 
gallery,  a  troop  of  half  a  hundred  mounted  men,  at 
their  head  one  who  seemed  of  importance.  Not  only 
the  rustling  people  on  the  green  banks,  but  the 
lists  now  making  final  preparation,  and  the  silken- 
canopied  gallery  took  cognizance  of  the  approach. 
The  troop  came  nearer.  A  tall  man  rode  in  front 
upon  a  bay  mare.  Behind  him  an  esquire  held 
aloft  a  spear  with  a  small  green-and-silver  ban 
ner  attached.  A  poursuivant,  gorgeously  clad, 
detached  himself  from  the  mass  and  cried  out: 
"Montmaure!" 

' '  Ha ! ' '  exclaimed  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate.  ' '  Here 
is  Count  Savaric!"  He  spoke  to  the  seneschal. 
"Take  five  or  six  of  the  best  and  go  meet  him.  Bring 
him  here  with  due  honour." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Alazais,  "he  will  joust.  He  is 
a  mighty  man  of  his  arms  and  bears  down  good 
knights." 

The  unlooked-for  guests  were  now  riding  close  at 
hand,  coming  upon  the  edge  of  the  meadow,  full 
before  the  platform  of  state.  So  important  was  this 
arrival,  that  for  the  moment  it  halted  interest  in  the 
tourney.  All  turned  to  watch  the  troop  with  the 
green-and-silver  banner. 

Montmaure  was  less  powerful  than  Roche-de- 
Frene,  but  not  greatly  less.  Roche-de-Frene  held 
from  the  French  King  Philip.  Montmaure  did  hom- 

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age  for  his  lands  to  Richard,  Duke  of  Aquitaine. 
But  there  was  a  certain  fief,  a  small  barony,  —  to 
wit,  the  one  that  included  Castel-Noir  and  Raim- 
baut  the  Six-fingered's  keep,  —  for  which  Mont- 
maure  had  put  his  hands  between  the  hands  of 
Gaucelm  of  Roche-de-Frene.  To  the  extent  of  three 
castles  with  their  villages  Gaucelm  was  his  liege 
lord.  Now,  as  he  came  beneath  the  platform  and 
immediately  opposite  that  prince,  he  gave  ceremo 
nious  recognition  of  the  fact.  Turning  in  his  saddle, 
he  drew  his  sword  an  inch  from  its  sheath,  hold 
ing  the  pommel  toward  the  prince,  then  let  it  slip 
home  again.  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  made  a  sign 
of  acceptance.  The  superb  cavalcade  passed  on 
and  in  another  moment  was  met  by  the  welcoming 
seneschal. 

It  seemed  that  Montmaure  would  not  joust, 
though  several  of  his  knights  wished  no  better  hour's 
play.  It  was  explained  that  he  was  travelling  to 
Montferrat,  proceeding  on  a  visit  to  the  marquis  his 
kinsman.  Last  night  he  had  slept  with  such  a  baron. 
To-day,  servitors  and  sumpter-mules  had  gone  on, 
but  the  count  with  his  immediate  following  would 
halt  at  Roche-de-Frene  to  enquire  after  the  health 
and  well-being  of  Prince  Gaucelm. 

With  ceremony  Montmaure  was  marshalled  to  the 
gallery,  and,  mounting  the  steps,  came  between  the 
wreathed  posts  to  the  seats  of  state.  The  prince  with 
Alazais  rose  to  greet  him.  In  Gaucelm  of  the  Star's 
time  there  had  been  trouble  between  Montmaure  and 

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THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Roche-de-Frene.  Some  harrying  had  taken  place, 
the  blood  of  a  number  of  knights  and  men-at-arms 
been  shed,  a  few  hundred  peasants  slain.  But  this 
present  Gaucelm  was  a  man  of  peace,  and  had  ef 
fected  peace  with  Montmaure.  But  Roche-de-Frene 
was  sceptical  of  its  lasting  forever.  Who  knew 
Montmaure,  knew  an  ambitious,  grasping,  warring 
lord  —  and  a  cruel  and  unscrupulous. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  broad-shouldered,  long-armed, 
with  red-gold  hair  and  beard.  When  all  courtesies  of 
speech  had  been  exchanged,  when  he  had  saluted  in 
courtly  fashion  the  most  beautiful  Alazais  and  the 
Princess  Audiart,  he  took  the  chair  of  worth  that 
was  placed  for  him,  and  made  enquiry  for  the  duke. 
He  had  heard  last  night  that  he  was  a  visitor  at 
Roche-de-Frene.  Told  that  he  would  joust,  and  his 
pavilion  pointed  out.  Montmaure  gazed  at  it  for 
half  a  minute,  then,  just  turning  his  head,  trans 
ferred  his  glance  to  the  Princess  Audiart.  It  was 
but  an  instant  that  he  looked,  then  came  square 
again  to  the  regard  of  the  lists.  He  turned  a  great 
emerald  ring  that  he  wore. 

"Fair  lord,"  said  Alazais,  "your  son,  Count 
Jaufre,  is  not  with  you?" 

Montmaure  bent  his  red-gold  head  toward  her. 
"Peerless  lady,  my  son,  in  hunting,  came  upon  a 
young  wolf  who  tore  his  side.  He  cannot  ride  yet 
with  ease.  I  have  left  him  at  Montmaure.  There  he 
studies  chivalry,  and  makes,  I  doubt  not,  chansons 
for  princesses." 

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"Travellers  from  Italy,"  said  Alazais,  "have  told 
us  that  he  is  an  accomplished  knight." 

"It  becomes  not  his  father  to  boast  of  him,"  said 
Montmaure.  "I  will  say  though  that  Italy  is  the 
poorer  since  his  return  home  and  his  own  land  is  the 
richer.  I  would  that  he  were  tilting  to-day  in  the 
light,  princesses,  of  your  four  fair  eyes!" 

Again  he  looked  at  the  Princess  Audiart,  and  at 
the  duke's  pavilion,  and  turned  his  emerald  ring. 

The  jousting  began.  Trumpets  blew  —  two 
knights  advanced  against  each  other  with  levelled 
spears  —  round  and  round  the  green  arena  the  eager 
folk  craned  necks.  They  had  shows  not  a  few  in  their 
lives,  but  this  was  a  show  that  never  palled.  Cock 
fights  were  good  —  baiting  of  bears  was  good  —  a 
bull-fight  passed  the  first  two  —  but  the  tpurney 
was  the  prime  spectacle  by  just  as  much  as  knights 
in  armour  outvalued  beasts  of  wood  and  field.  The 
knights  met  with  an  iron  clamour,  each  breaking  his 
lance  against  the  other's  shield.  Another  two  were 
encountering  —  one  of  these  was  unhorsed.  Others 
rode  forth,  coming  from  either  end  of  the  lists.  .  .  . 
Encounter  followed  encounter  as  knight  after 
knight  took  part.  Now  there  were  single  combats 
and  now  melees.  The  dust  rose  in  clouds,  the  trum 
pets  brayed,  the  sun  climbed  high.  Knights  were 
unhorsed,  a  number  had  hurts,  two  or  three  had 
been  dragged  senseless  to  the  barrier.  Stephen  the 
Marshal  was  the  champion  ;  all  who  came  against 
him  broke  at  last  like  waves  against  a  rock. 

in 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

It  was  high  noon  and  the  duke  had  not  yet  jousted. 
The  crowd  was  excited  and  began  to  murmur.  It 
did  not  wish  to  be  cheated  —  the  greater  he  that 
jousted,  the  greater  the  show!  Moreover  it  wished 
to  be  able  to  tell  the  points  of  him  who  might  be 
going  to  wed  Roche-de-Frene.  A  statement  had 
spread  that  the  duke  was  a  bold  knight  in  a  tourney 

—  that  he  had  an  enchanted  lance,  a  thread  from 
Saint  Martha's  wimple  being  tied  around  its  head 

—  that  his  black  stallion  had  been  brought  from  the 
land  over  the  sea,  and  had  been  sired  by  a  demon 
steed.    The  crowd  wanted  to  see  him  joust  against 
Stephen  the  Marshal.    His  honour  would  not  allow 
him  to  strike  a  lesser  shield.    But  then  the  prince 
would  not  wish  Stephen  to  unhorse  his  guest.    But 
perhaps  Lord  Stephen  could  not  —  the  duke  might 
be  the  bolder  knight.    But  was  the  duke  going  to 
tilt? 

He  was  going  to  tilt.  He  came  forth  from  his 
orange  silk  pavilion,  in  a  hauberk  covered  with  rings 
of  steel,  and  his  esquires  helped  him  to  mount  the 
black  stallion.  He  took  and  shook  his  lance;  the 
sun  made  the  sheath  of  his  sword  to  flash ;  they  gave 
him  a  heart-shaped  shield.  All  around  the  lists 
sprang  a  rustling,  buzzing,  and  clamour.  The  gal 
lery  of  state  rustled,  whispered. 

"He  is  not  a  large  man,"  quoth  Montmaure. 

"I  have  heard  that  he  jousts  well,"  Prince  Gau- 
celm  answered. 

"  My  Lord  Stephen  the  Marshal  outmatches  him." 

112 


TOURNAMENT 

"The  marshal  is  a  passing  good  knight.  But  he  is 
wearied." 

"Ha!"  thought  Montmaure,  "you  are  so  cour 
teous  that  you  mean  the  duke  to  win  the  wreath. 
Crown  your  daughter  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty? 
God's  teeth!  I  suppose  he  must  do  it  if  he  wants 
Roche-de-Frene  —  " 

The  black  stallion  and  his  rider  crossed  to  the 
marshal's  pavilion.  The  duke  touched  the  shield 
with  his  lance,  then  backed  the  stallion  to  his  own 
end  of  the  meadow.  Stephen  the  Marshal  mounted 
his  big  grey  and  took  a  lance  from  his  esquire. 
The  field  was  left  clear  for  the  two. 

They  met  midway,  in  dust-cloud  and  clangour. 
Whether  the  marshal  was  tired,  or  whether  he  was  as 
courteous  as  his  lord,  or  whether  the  duke  was  truly 
great  in  the  tourney,  may  be  left  to  choice.  Each 
lance  splintered,  but  Stephen  the  Marshal,  as  his 
horse  came  back  upon  its  haunches,  lost  his  seat, 
recovered  it  only  by  clutching  at  the  mane  and 
swinging  himself  into  the  saddle.  Every  herald  at 
once  found  voice  —  up  hurried  the  marshals  —  sil 
ver  trumpets  told  to  the  four  quarters,  name  and 
titles  of  the  victor. 

Around  and  around  rose  applause,  though  indeed 
no  immoderate  storm  of  sound.  Stephen  the  Mar 
shal  was  a  valiant  man.  But  there  was  enough  to  let 
one  say  that  nothing  lacked.  The  duke  turned  his 
horse  from  side  to  side,  just  bowed  his  head  in  its 
pointed  helmet.  Then,  as  the  custom  was,  a  wreath 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

of  silken  flowers  and  leaves  was  placed  upon  the 
point  of  his  spear.  He  made  the  stallion  to  curvet 
and  caracole,  and  then  to  pace  slowly  around  the 
lists.  A  body  of  jongleurs  began  to  play  with  enthu 
siasm  as  passionate  a  love-air  as  they  knew.  All 
Roche-de-Fr£ne,  town  and  castle  —  all  the  barons 
and  ladies  from  afar  —  all  the  knights  who  jousted 
—  all  watched  to  see  the  duke  lay  the  wreath  at  the 
feet  of  the  young  princess  —  watched  to  see  if  he 
would  lay  it  there.  If  he  did  it  might  be  said  to 
announce  that  here,  if  he  might,  he  would  wed. 

The  duke  rode  around  the  lists;  then  before  the 
wide  platform  of  state  and  the  centre  of  that  plat 
form,  before  the  chairs  set  arow  upon  a  rich  Eastern 
rug  and  canopied  with  silk,  he  checked  the  black 
stallion,  and,  lowering  his  lance,  let  the  wreath  slip 
from  it  and  rest  at  the  feet  of  certainly  the  most 
beautiful  woman  there,  Gaucelm's  princess,  the 
dazzling  Alazais. 


CHAPTER   IX 

GARIN    SEEKS   HIS   FORTUNE 

ONE  day,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  Garin  kept  com 
pany  with  the  train  of  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius. 
As  the  day  dropped  toward  eve  the  road  touched  a 
stream  that,  reflecting  the  western  sky,  blushed  like 
a  piece  of  coral.  It  was  the  monks'  home  stream. 
The  ford  passed,  their  abbey  would  ere  long  rise 
before  them.  Some  were  tired  of  travel  and  had 
been  homesick  for  garden  and  refectory,  cell  and 
chapel  —  homesick  as  a  dog  for  its  master,  a  child 
for  its  mother,  a  plant  for  its  sunshine.  Some  were 
not  tired  of  travel  and  were  not  homesick.  So  there 
were  both  glad  and  sorry  in  the  fellowship  that,  mid 
way  of  the  ford,  checked  the  fat  abbey  mules  and 
horses  to  let  them  drink.  The  beasts  stooped  their 
necks  to  the  pink  water;  monks  and  lay  brothers 
and  abbey  knaves  looked  at  the  opposite  slope. 
When  they  reached  its  crest  they  would  see  before 
them  Saint  Pamphilius,  grey  and  rich.  The  abbot's 
mule  drank  first  as  was  proper,  raised  its  head  first, 
and  with  a  breath  of  satisfaction  splashed  forward. 
The  two  monks  immediately  attendant  upon  the 
Reverend  Father  must  pull  up  their  horses'  heads 
before  they  had  half  drunken  and  follow  their 
superior. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  abbot,  mounting  the  gently  shelving  bank, 
looked  at  his  sons  in  God,  yet  dotting  the  small 
bright  river.  He  just  checked  his  mule.  "That 
limping  youth  is  no  longer  in  our  company." 

The  monk  nearest  him  spoke.  "Reverend  Father, 
as  we  came  through  the  wood  a  mile  back,  he  gave 
Brother  Anselm  thanks,  then  slipped  from  behind 
him.  Brother  Bartholomew  called  to  him,  but  he 
went  away  among  the  trees." 

"Ah!"  said  the  abbot;  "in  which  direction?" 

"Reverend  Father,  southwardly." 

Abbot  Arnaut  sat  silent  a  moment,  then  shook 
the  reins  and  his  mule  climbed  on  toward  the  hill 
top.  ' '  Ah, ' '  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  said  it  piously. 
"He  is  young,  and  when  you  are  young  perils  do  not 
imperil !  When  you  are  young,  you  are  an  eel  to  slip 
through  —  I  have  done  what  I  could !  Doubtless  he 
will  escape." 

That  night  there  rose  a  great  round  moon.  It 
lighted  Garin  through  the  wood  until  he  was  ready 
to  sleep,  —  it  showed  him  where  he  could  find  the 
thickest  bed  and  covering  of  leaves,  —  and  when  he 
waked  in  the  night  he  saw  it  like  a  shield  overhead. 
All  day,  riding  behind  Brother  Anselm,  the  monks 
about  him,  black  as  crows,  he  had  felt  dull  and  dead. 
Waking  now  in  the  night,  forest  around  him  and 
moon  above,  sheer  unfamiliarity  and  wonder  at  his 
plight  made  him  shiver  and  start  like  a  lost  child. 
All  that  he  had  lost  passed  before  him.  Foulque 
passed,  transfigured  in  his  eyes,  he  was  so  lonely 

116 


GARIN  SEEKS  HIS  FORTUNE 

and  sick  for  home.  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered 
passed,  transfigured.  The  rude  hall  in  Raimbaut 's 
keep,  the  smoky  fire  and  the  lounging  men  —  they 
were  desirable  to  him;  he  felt  a  cold  pang  when  it 
crossed  him  that  he  would  never  win  back.  He 
strove  to  plunge,  head  to  heel,  into  the  rich  depths 
of  the  feeling  before  this  feeling,  to  recall  the  glow 
out  of  which  he  had  spoken  at  Castel-Noir,  to  go 
back  to  the  nightingale's  singing.  It  was  there,  that 
feeling;  he  knew  that  it  had  been  born  and  was  liv 
ing.  But  to-night  half  a  chill  and  empty  world  was 
between  him  and  it.  There  in  the  forest,  beneath 
the  round  moon,  he  had  a  bewildered  brain  and  an 
aching  heart.  Then  at  last  he  crossed  the  half-world 
to  some  faint  sweetness,  and  so  slept. 

With  the  dawn  he  was  afoot.  He  had  a  piece  of 
bread  in  his  pouch,  and  as  he  walked  he  ate  this,  and 
a  streamlet  gave  him  drink.  The  wood  thinned.  In 
the  first  brightness  of  the  day  he  came  upon  a  road 
of  so  fair  a  width  and  goodness  that  he  saw  it  must 
be  a  highway  and  beaded  with  towns.  Apparently 
it  ran  northeast  and  southwest,  though  so  broken 
was  the  country  that  at  short  range  it  rounded  al 
most  any  cc/ner  you  might  choose.  Where  he  was 
going  he  did  not  know,  but  he  took  the  trend  that 
led  him  south  by  west.  Dimly  he  thought  of  mak 
ing  his  way  into  Spain.  Barcelona  —  there  was  a 
great  town  —  and  King  Alfonso  of  Aragon  was 
known  for  a  gallant  king,  rich,  liberal  and  courtly. 
Garin  looked  down  at  his  serf's  tunic  and  torn  shoon 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

—  but  then  he  felt  within  his  breast.  Foulque's 
purse  was  there. 

When  he  waked,  it  had  been  first  to  bewilderment 
and  then  to  mere  relief  in  warmth  and  sunlight. 
Now  as  he  walked  courage  returned,  the  new  energy 
and  glow.  Early  as  it  was,  the  road  had  its  travel 
which  increased  with  the  strengthening  day.  It  was 
a  country  rich  in  beauty.  He  had  never  been  so  far 
from  home.  The  people  upon  the  road  were  like 
people  he  had  seen  before.  Yet  there  existed  small, 
regional  differences,  and  his  eye  was  quick  at  noting 
these.  They  pleased  him;  imagination  played.  The 
morning  was  fair  without  and  within. 

A  driver  of  mules  —  twenty  with  twenty  loads  of 
sawn  wood  and  sacks  of  salt  and  other  matters  — 
caught  up  with  him.  Garin  and  he  walked  side  by 
side  and  the  former  learned  whence  the  road  came 
and  where  it  went.  As  for  the  world  hereabouts,  it 
belonged  to  Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse.  Garin, 
walking,  began  to  sing. 

"You  sing  well,  brother,"  said  the  muleteer.  "If 
you  dwelt  with  animals  as  I  do,  your  voice  would 
crack!  They  do  not  understand  me  when  I  sing. 
They  think  that  I  mean  that  they  may  stand  still 
and  admire.  —  Ha!  May  God  forget  and  the  devil 
remember  you  there!  Get  up!" 

They  travelled  with  pauses,  jerks,  and  starts,  so 
at  last  Garin  said,  "Farewell,  brother!"  and  swung 
on  alone.  Half  an  hour  later  he,  in  turn,  came  up 
with  a  pedlar,  a  great  pack  wrapt  in  cloth  on  his 

118 


GARIN  SEEKS  HIS  FORTUNE 

back,  sitting  resting  by  the  wayside.  "Who  '11  buy?  " 
called  the  pedlar.   ' '  Here 's  your  fine  pennyworths ! ' ' 

Garin  stopped  beside  him  and  considered  the  pack. 
Travelling  merchants  of  a  different  grade,  going  with 
laden  horses  from  fair  to  fair,  might  have  with  them, 
cut,  fashioned  and  sewed,  a  dress  that  would  do  for 
an  esquire.  But  not  a  poor  pack-aback  like  this.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"No  money?"  asked  the  pedlar.  "Thumb  of 
Lazarus!  how  this  sickness  spreads!" 

Other  wayfarers  came  in  sight.  "Who'll  buy?" 
called  the  pedlar.  "Here's  your  fine  pennyworths!" 

Garin  left  him  chaffering  with  a  rich  villein,  and 
went  his  own  way  along  the  sunny  road. 

Toward  noon,  rounding  a  hill,  he  came  upon  a 
little  village.  He  bought  from  the  nearest  house 
bread  and  cheese  and  a  cup  of  goat's  milk,  and  sat 
down  under  a  mulberry  tree  to  eat  and  drink.  As 
he  made  an  end  of  the  feast,  two  girls  came  and 
stood  in  the  house  door.  They  studied  his  appear 
ance,  and  it  seemed  to  find  favour.  He  smiled  back 
at  them. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  asked  one. 

"In  the  moon." 

"Ha!"  said  the  girl.  "  It  was  as  round  as  an  egg 
last  night.  You  must  have  dropped  out.  And  where 
are  you  going?" 

"To  the  sun." 

"He!  You  will  be  sunburned.  Whose  man  are 
you?" 

119 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

"Lord  Love's." 

The  girls  laughed  for  joy  in  him.  "He!  We  see  his 
collar  around  your  neck!  What  does  he  make  you 
do?" 

"He  makes  me  to  serve  a  lady." 

"'Ladies!'  We  do  not  like  'ladies'!  They  are  as 
proud  as  they  were  made  of  sugar!" 

"In  the  court  of  Lord  Love,"  said  Garin,  "every 
woman  mounts  into  a  lady." 

One  of  the  girls  laughed  more  silently  than  the 
other.  "Oh,  the  pleasant  fool!"  she  said.  "You  go 
on  a  long  pilgrimage  when  you  go  to  Compostella. 
But  to  that  court  would  be  the  longest  I  have  ever 
heard  tell  of!" 

The  other  dug  her  bare  foot  into  the  ground.  "  If 
you  are  in  no  hurry,  the  house  can  give  you  work  to 
do,  and  for  it  supper  and  lodging." 

"I  have  to  reach  the  sun.  And  who  would  do 
that,"  said  Garin,  "must  be  travelling." 

He  stood  up,  left  the  mulberry  tree,  and  because 
they  were  young  and  not  unfair,  and  there  was  to  be 
seen  in  it  no  harm  or  displeasure,  he  kissed  them 
both.  They  laughed  and  pushed  him  away,  then, 
their  hands  on  his  shoulders,  each  kissed  back. 

Leaving  them  and  the  hamlet  behind,  he  came 
again  into  fair  country  where  the  blue  sky  touched 
the  hill-tops.  Morning  had  slipped  into  afternoon. 
Not  far  away  would  be  a  town  he  had  heard  of. 
He  meant  to  get  there  a  different  dress.  It  was  neces 
sary  to  do  that.  Wandering  so,  in  this  serf's  wear, 

120 


GARIN  SEEKS  HIS  FORTUNE 

he  might  at  any  hour  be  taken  up,  called  to  account, 
made  to  name  his  master.  "Lord  Love"  would  not 
answer  far.  Say  that,  without  fathomless  trouble, 
he  got  the  dress,  what  was  going  to  follow  upon  the 
getting?  He  did  not  know. 

Ahead  of  him  walked  a  thin  figure  wrapped  in  a 
black  mantle  and  wearing  a  wide  hat  somewhat  like 
a  palmer's.  Garin  lessened  the  distance  between 
them.  The  black-clad  one  was  talking,  or  more  cor 
rectly,  chanting  to  himself  as  he  walked,  and  that 
with  such  abstraction  from  the  surrounding  world 
that  he  did  not  hear  the  other  moving  close  behind 
him.  Garin  listened  before  speaking. 

"In  Ethiopia  is  found  basilisk,  cockatrice,  and 
phcenix;  in  certain  parts  of  Greece  the  centaur,  and 
in  the  surrounding  seas  mermaiden.  The  dolphin  is 
of  all  beasts  the  tenderest-hearted.  Elephants  wor 
ship  the  sun.  .  .  .  Pliny  tells  us  that  there  are  eleven 
kinds  of  lightning.  Clap  your  hands  when  it  light 
ens.  .  .  .  The  elements  are  four  —  earth,  air,  fire  and 
water.  To  each  of  these  pertaineth  a  spirit — gnome, 
sylph,  salamander,  ondine.  By  long  and  great  study 
a  scholar  at  last  may  perceive  sylph  or  salamander. 
Such  an  one  rises  to  strange  wisdom.  .  .  .  The  earth 
is  not  a  plain  as  we  were  taught.  Impossible  for  our 
human  mind  to  conceive  how  it  may  be  round,  and 
yet  the  most  learned  hold  that  it  is  so.  Holy  Church 
denieth,  in  toto,  the  Antipodes,  and  one  must  walk 
warily.  Yet,  if  it  is  fancied  a  square,  there  are  dif 
ficulties.  Aristotle—" 

121 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

Garin  came  even  with  him.   "God  save  you,  sir!" 

The  black  mantle  started  violently,  returned  the 
salutation,  but  looked  around  him  nervously.  Then, 
seeing  in  a  neighbouring  field  half  a  dozen  peasants, 
men  and  women,  he  recovered  his  equanimity. 
Moreover,  when  he  looked  at  him  closely,  the  youth 
had  not  the  face  of  a  robber.  He  addressed  Garin 
in  a  slightly  sing-song  voice.  "Do  you  know  this 
road?  How  far  is  it  to  the  town?" 

"  I  do  not  know  the  road.  It  is  not  much  further, 
I  think." 

The  man  in  the  black  mantle  was  a  thin,  pale, 
ascetic-looking  person.  He  had  a  hungry  look,  or 
what,  at  first,  Garin  thought  was  such.  The  esquire 
had  seen  hungry  men,  peasants  starved  and  wolfish, 
prisoners  with  a  like  aspect,  fasting  penitents.  But 
it  was  the  man's  eyes,  Garin  decided,  that  gave  him 
the  look,  and  it  was  not  one  of  hunger  for  bread. 
They  were  large  and  clear,  and  they  seemed  to  seek 
something  afar. 

Their  owner  at  first  looked  askance  and  with  a 
somewhat  peevish  pride  at  the  peasant  keeping 
beside  him.  Garin  had  forgotten  his  garb  and  the 
station  it  assigned  him.  But  the  feeling,  such  as  it 
was,  seemed  to  drift  out  of  the  black-clad's  mind. 
11 1  grow  weary,"  he  said,  "and  shall  be  glad  to  beg  a 
night's  shelter." 

"Have  you  travelled  far?" 

"From  Bologna." 

"Bologna!  That  is  in  Italy." 

122 


GARIN   SEEKS  HIS   FORTUNE 

"Yes.  The  University  there.  I  am  going  to  Paris. 
It  may  be  that  I  shall  go  to  Oxford." 

"Ah,"  said  Garin,  with  respect.  "I  understand 
now  why  you  were  talking  to  yourself.  You  are  a 
student." 

"That  am  I.  One  day  I  may  be  Magister  or  Doc 
tor."  He  walked  with  a  lifted  gaze.  "  I  serve  toward 
that  —  and  toward  the  gaining  of  Knowledge." 

Garin  was  silent ;  then  he  said  with  some  wistful- 
ness,  "I,  too,  would  have  learning  and  knowledge." 

The  other  walked  with  a  rapt  gaze.  "  It  is  the  true 
goddess,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  Great  Love.'' 

But  Garin  dissented  from  that  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  a  short  laugh  of  rapture. 

The  student  turned  his  large  eyes  upon  him.  "You 
love  a  woman.  —  What  is  her  name?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Garin.  "Nor  the  features 
of  her  face,  nor  where  she  lives."  Suddenly  as  he 
moved,  he  made  a  name.  "The  Fair  Goal,"  he  said, 
"I  have  named  her  now." 

The  interest  of  the  man  in  black  had  been  but 
momentary.  "Study  is  a  harsh  mistress,"  he  said; 
"fair,  but  terrible!  It  would  irk  any  pitying  saint 
to  see  how  we  students  fare!  Hunger  and  cold  and 
nakedness.  Books,  without  warmth  or  cheer  or 
light  where  we  can  con  them.  And  we  often  want 
books  and  nowhere  can  procure  them.  We  live  in 
booths  or  in  corners  of  other  men's  dwellings,  and 
none  care  to  give  us  livelihood  while  we  master 
knowledge.  There  were  several  thousand  of  us  in 

123 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Bologna,  and  in  Paris  there  are  more,  and  at  Ox 
ford  they  say  there  are  many  thousands.  I  have 
seen  us  go  blind,  and  I  have  seen  us  die  of  hunger, 
and  I  have  seen  us  unwitted — " 

"But  you  go  on,"  said  Garin. 

"It  is  the  only  life,"  answered  the  black  mantle. 

They  walked  in  silence.  After  a  few  moments  a 
thought  seemed  to  occur  to  the  journey er  from 
Bologna.  He  looked  more  closely  at  his  companion. 
"  By  your  dress  you  are  out  of  the  fields.  But  your 
tongue  speaks  castle- wise." 

Garin  had  his  vanity  of  revealment.  "  My  tongue 
is  my  own,  but  this  dress  is  not,"  he  said;  then,  re 
penting  his  rashness,  "Do  not  betray  me!  I  am 
fleeing  from  trouble." 

"No,  I  will  not,"  answered  the  student  with  sim 
plicity.  "  I  know  trouble,  and  he  is  hard  to  escape. 
You  are,  perchance,  a  young  knight?" 

"I  was  my  lord's  esquire.  But  it  is  my  meaning 
to  become  a  knight.  —  I  would  make  poems,  too." 

"Ah!"  said  the  student,  "a  troubadour." 

Garin  made  no  answer,  but  the  word  sank  in.  He 
had  a  singing  heart  to-day.  You  could  be  knight  and 
troubadour  both.  He  wished  now  to  write  a  beauti 
ful  song  for  the  Fair  Goal. 

They  came  in  sight  of  the  town.  It  was  fairly 
large,  massed,  like  most  towns,  about  a  castle.  As  in 
all  towns,  you  saw  churches  and  churches  rising 
above  the  huddled  houses. 

"I  will  find,"  said  the  student,  "some  house  of 
124 


GARIN  SEEKS  HIS  FORTUNE 

monks.    I  will  give  them  all  the  news  I  know,  and 
they  will  give  me  food  and  a  pallet.   Best  come  with 


me." 


But  Garin  would  not  try  the  monastery. 

The  afternoon  was  waning.  They  entered  the 
town  not  more  than  an  hour  before  the  gates  would 
shut,  and  parted  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall.  When 
Garin  had  gone  twenty  paces,  he  looked  back.  The 
student  was  standing  where  he  had  left  him,  in  a 
brown  study,  but  now  he  spoke  across  the  uneven, 
unpaved  way.  " Choose  knowledge!"  he  said. 

Garin,  going  on  through  a  narrow,  dark,  and  tor 
tuous  lane,  found  in  his  mind  the  jongleur  to  whom 
he  had  talked  on  the  road  from  Roche-de-Frene. 
"Choose  love!"  had  said  the  jongleur.  Garin 
laughed.  "I  choose  what  I  must!"  The  dark  way 
seemed  to  blossom  with  roses;  jewels  and  perfumes 
were  in  his  hands. 

He  found,  after  an  hour  of  wandering  and  enquiry, 
lodging  in  a  high,  old,  ruinous  house  above  a  black 
alley.  Here  he  got  a  Spartan  supper,  and  went  to 
bed,  tired  but  hopeful.  Morning  seemed  to  come  at 
once.  He  rose  in  a  high,  clear  dawn,  ate  what  they 
gave  him,  sallied  forth,  and  in  the  first  sunshine 
came  to  a  shop  where  was  standing  a  Jew  merchant 
in  a  high  cap.  Garin  bought  shirt,  hose  and  breeches, 
tunic  and  mantle,  shoes  and  cap.  The  Jew  looked 
questions  out  of  his  small,  twinkling  black  eyes,  but 
asked  none  with  his  tongue. 

Back  to  his  lodging  went  Garin,  his  purchases 
125 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

under  his  arm,  shifted  from  serf's  garb  into  these, 
and  stood  forth  in  russet  and  blue — a  squire  again  to 
the  eye,  though  not  the  squire  of  any  knight  or  lord 
of  wealth.  He  counted  over  the  moneys  yet  in  his 
purse,  and  then,  having  paid  to  a  half-blind  old 
woman  the  price  of  his  lodging,  went  forth  again, 
and  at  a  place  for  weapons  bought  a  dagger  with 
sheath  and  belt.  Near  the  weapon  shop  was  a 
church  porch.  Garin  wished  to  think  things  out  a 
little,  so  he  went  across  to  this  and  took  his  seat 
upon  the  steps  in  the  sunshine,  his  back  to  a  pillar. 


CHAPTER  X 

GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

THE  bells  of  a  neighbouring  religious  house  were 
ringing  with  a  mellow  sound.  People  passed  this 
way  and  that  before  the  church  porch.  The  doors 
were  opened,  and  one  and  another  entered  the 
building.  Garin  paid  them  no  attention ;  he  sat  sunk 
in  thought.  What  now?  What  next? 

He  was  twenty  years  old  —  strong,  of  a  sound 
body,  not  without  education  in  matters  that  the 
time  thought  needful.  He  could  do  what  another 
esquire  of  gentle  blood  could  do.  Moreover,  he  felt 
in  himself  further  powers.  He  was  not  crassly  confi 
dent  ;  he  turned  toward  those  bright  shoots  and  buds 
an  inner  regard  half  shy  and  wistful.  He  was  capa 
ble  of  longing  and  melancholy.  .  .  .  Danger  from 
Savaric  of  Montmaure  and  his  son  Jaufre  he  held  to 
be  fairly  passed.  Accident  might  renew  it,  to-day, 
to-morrow,  or  ten  years  hence,  but  accident  only 
took  its  chance  with  other  chances.  He  was  out  of 
Savaric's  grasp,  being  out  of  his  territory  and  into 
that  of  Toulouse,  with  intention  to  wander  yet 
farther  afield.  Extradition  and  detectives  had  their 
rough-hewn  equivalents  in  Garin's  day.  But  he  was 
assured  that  there  was  no  spy  upon  his  track,  and 
he  did  not  brood  over  the  possibility  of  a  summons 

127 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

to  Toulouse  to  deliver  him  or  be  warred  against. 
He  had  his  share  of  common  sense.  He  was  an 
offender  too  obscure  and  slight  for  such  weightiness 
of  persecution.  Did  they  find  him,  they  would 
wring  his  neck,  but  they  would  not  dislocate  their 
usual  life  to  find  him.  He  thought  that,  with  com 
mon  precaution,  he  was  at  present  safe  enough  from 
Montmaure.  He  could  not  go  back  to  Raimbaut 
or  to  Castel-Noir  —  perhaps  not  for  many  years 
.  .  .  though  if  he  became  a  famous  knight  he  might 
ride  back,  his  esquires  behind  him,  and  challenge 
that  false  knight,  Jaufre  de  Montmaure!  To  become 
that  knight  —  that  was  his  problem,  or  rather,  one 
great  problem.  He  must  change  his  name,  he  must 
seek  a  lord,  he  must  win  back,  first,  to  squirehood. 
On  the  road  yesterday,  one  had  asked  him  his 
name.  He  had  replied  with  the  first  thing  that 
came  into  his  head.  "Garin  Rogier,"  he  had  said. 
He  thought  now  that  this  would  still  answer.  For 
his  country,  he  proposed  to  say  that  he  was  of  Li 
mousin. 

It  might  take  years  to  become  a  knight.  His  own 
merit  would  have  to  do  with  that,  but  Fortune,  also, 
would  have  to  do  with  it.  He  knew  not  if  Fortune 
would  be  kind  to  him,  or  the  reverse.  He  sat  bent 
forward,  his  hands  clasped  between  his  knees,  his 
eyes  upon  the  sunshine-gilded  stones.  Find  knight 
hood  —  And  how  should  he  find  his  lady? 

He  took  into  his  hand  a  corner  of  his  mantle.  The 
stuff  was  simple,  far  from  costly,  but  the  colour  was 

128 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

that  blue,  deep  but  not  harsh,  dark  but  silvery  too, 
which  had  been  worn  by  that  form  in  the  stone  chair 
beneath  the  cedar  tree,  by  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady 
in  Egypt.  He  had  bought  it  because  it  was  of  that 
hue.  Now  the  sunshine  at  his  feet  seemed  of  the 
very  tissue  of  that  day.  He  sat  in  a  dream,  his  mind 
now  a  floating  mist  of  colour  and  fragrance,  now  an 
aching  vision  of  a  woman's  form  whose  face  he  could 
not  see.  He  drew  and  coloured  the  face,  now  this 
way  and  now  that,  but  never  to  his  satisfaction.  .  .  . 
Would  ever  he  meet  her  face  to  face?  He  knew  not. 
Where  did  she  live?  He  knew  not.  East,  west, 
north,  south  —  beyond  the  mountains  or  across 
the  sea?  He  knew  not.  It  would  be  in  some  court. 
There  were  many  courts.  His  strong  fancy  was  that 
she  had  come  from  far  away.  He  knew  not  if  in  this 
world  he  would  again  enter  her  presence. 

An  exaltation  came  upon  Garin.  And  if  he  did 
not,  still  could  he  uphold  to  the  stars  that  dreamy 
passion!  Still  could  he  serve,  worship,  sing!  The 
Fair  Goal  —  the  Fair  Goal !  Music  seemed  to  pos 
sess  him  and  a  loveliness  of  words,  and  of  rich  and 
lofty  images.  The  Fair  Goal  —  the  Fair  Goal  ! 
Garin  stretched  forth  his  arms.  "O  Love,  my 
winged  Lord !  Let  me  never  swerve  from  the  love  of 
that  lady!" 

From  the  church  behind  him  came  a  drift  of  music 
and  chanting.  A  woman,  mounting  the  steps, 
caught  his  words  and  paused  to  look  at  him.  She 
was  between  youth  and  age,  with  a  pale,  ecstatic 

129 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

face.  "Now  all  the  violets  bloom,"  she  said,  "and 
the  leaves  shiver  on  the  trees  as  the  flowers  come  up 
between  them!  But  earthly  spring,  fair  brother,  is 
but  a  fourth  part  of  Time,  and  in  Eternity  a  grain, 
a  wind-blown  petal !  Choose  thou  Religion  and  find 
her  the  true  love!" 

She  passed  into  the  church.  Garin,  rising  from 
the  steps,  looked  about  him.  While  he  sat  there  the 
space  around  had  become  peopled.  Many  folk  were 
entering  the  doors.  As  he  looked,  there  turned  a 
corner  eight  or  ten  men  walking  in  procession,  be 
hind  and  about  them  a  throng.  All  mounted  the 
steps,  pressing  toward  the  entrance.  The  most  had 
pale  faces  of  enthusiasm.  Of  the  crowd  some  were 
weeping,  some  uttering  exclamations  of  praise  and 
ecstasy.  Garin  touched  a  bystander  on  the  sleeve. 
"What  takes  place?" 

"Do  you  not  see  the  crosses?" 

"I  could  not  for  the  crowd,"  said  Garin.  "I  can 
now.  They  are  going  to  the  land  over  sea?" 

"Three  ships  with  their  companies  sail  from  the 
nearest  port.  All  the  churches  are  singing  mass  and 
sewing  crosses  on  those  who  will  take  them." 

"But  there  is  no  great  and  general  going 
preached  to-day,"  said  Garin.  "There  has  not  been 
since  Saint  Bernard's  time." 

"They  say  it  will  soon  be  preached  again,"  an 
swered  his  informant.  "Holy  church  must  find  a 
way  to  set  off  heresy  that  is  creeping  in !  —  These 
are  ships  sailing  with  help  for  King  Baldwin  of 

130 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

Jerusalem.  The  Pope  has  granted  a  great  Indul 
gence,  and  many  from  these  parts  are  going  that 
they  may  wipe  out  their  sins." 

The  informant  moved  toward  the  doors.  Garin 
thought  of  entering  and  hearing  mass  and  seeing 
the  crosses  sewed  on.  But  then  he  thought  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  keep  his  road.  He  waited  until 
most  of  the  people  had  gone  into  the  church,  then 
found  his  way  to  the  westward -giving  town  gate 
and  passed  out  into  the  country.  In  Foulque's 
purse  he  had  still  enough  to  purchase  —  not  another 
Paladin,  as  he  recognized  with  a  sigh,  but  yet  some 
horse  not  wholly  unworthy.  But  this  town,  he  had 
been  told,  had  no  good  horse-market.  Such  and 
such  a  place,  some  miles  away,  was  better.  So  he 
walked  in  his  russet  and  blue  and  suited  so  the  rus 
set,  sunshiny  country  and  the  profound  blue  arch 
of  the  sky. 

Upon  a  lonely  stretch  of  the  road  he  came  to  a 
wayside  cross,  with  a  gaunt  figure  carved  upon  it. 
A  gaunt  figure,  too,  sat  beside  the  cross,  but  rose  as 
he  approached  and  tinkled  a  small  bell  that  it  car 
ried.  As  he  lifted  his  mantle  and  wei/t  by  with 
averted  face  so  that  he  might  not  breathe  the  air 
that  flowed  between,  it  croaked  out  a  demand  for 
alms.  It  came  so  foully  across  Garin's  dream  that 
he  shook  his  head  and  hurried  by.  But  when  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  was  between  him  and  the  leper  he 
stood  still,  his  eyes  upon  the  ground.  At  last,  draw 
ing  out  Foulque's  purse,  he  took  from  it  a  coin  and 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

going  back  dropped  it  into  the  leper's  cup.  "In 
Love's  name!"  he  said. 

The  leper  widened  his  lips.  "What  is  Love's 
name?  "  he  asked.  "  If  I  had  its  name,  I  might  make 
it  do  something!" 

Garin  left  him  by  the  wayside  cross,  a  terrible, 
unhelped  person.  He  darkened  his  mood  for  him, 
or  the  stress  and  strain  and  elevation  of  the  past 
week,  flagging,  left  him  suddenly  in  some  dead  back 
water  or  black  pool  of  being.  He  walked  on,  putting 
the  miles  behind  him,  but  with  no  springing  step 
and  with  a  blank  gaze.  Light  and  colour  seemed  to 
withdraw  from  the  day  and  the  landscape.  The 
cross-taking  in  the  town  behind  him  and  the  leper 
by  the  roadside  conjoined  with  many  another  fact, 
attitude,  and  tendency  of  his  world.  It  could  show 
itself  a  gusty  world  of  passion  and  energy,  and  also 
a  world  of  asceticisms,  humilities  and  glooms,  of 
winter  days  struggling  with  spring  days,  of  an  in 
ward  fall  toward  lessening  and  annihilation.  Here 
was  an  hour  impetuous  and  crescive,  and  here  was 
its  successor  passive,  resigned  and  fading,  and  one 
man  or  woman  might  experience  both.  Garin 
had  been  aloft;  now  he  walked  in  a  vale  indeed, 
and  could  have  laid  himself  upon  its  ashy  soil  and 
wept. 

Out  of  that  mood  he  passed  into  one  less  drear. 
But  he  was  still  sad,  and  the  whole  huge  world  came 
into  correspondence.  Lepers  and  outcast  persons, 
prisoners,  and  slaves,  the  poor  and  hopeless,  the 

132 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

lovers  parted,  the  condemned  for  sin  —  Garin 
plodded  on,  his  eyes  upon  the  earth. 

A  sound  of  distant  bells  aroused  him.  He  lifted 
his  head  and  looked  to  see  whence  it  came.  At  the 
base  of  an  olive-planted  hill  appeared  a  monastery, 
not  large,  but  a  simple-seeming,  antique  place.  It 
had  a  church,  small  too,  with  a  bell-tower.  The 
country  hereabouts  was  rich  with  woods  and  streams 
and  purple  crags,  in  the  distance  a  curtain  of  great 
mountains.  Before  him,  two  miles  or  so  away,  Garin 
saw  a  castle  crowning  a  cliff  rising  from  a  narrow 
valley.  It,  neither,  was  large  —  though  larger  than 
Raimbaut's  castle.  .  .  .  The  bells  were  ringing 
sweetly,  the  light  bathed  the  little  vale  and  washed 
the  crag  and  the  castle  walls.  Garin 's  sadness  fell,  in 
part,  from  him.  What  stayed  only  gave  depth  and 
charm  to  all  that  in  that  moment  met  his  senses. 
In  him  phantasy  turned  quickly,  acted  quickly. 
"  I  like  all  this,"  it  said  in  effect.  "And  I  tell  myself 
that  in  the  baron  who  dwells  in  that  castle  I  shall 
find  a  lord  who  will  knight  me!" 

He  resolved  to  go  to  the  castle.  He  walked 
quickly  now,  with  a  determined,  light  step.  A  spur 
of  the  road  led  off  to  the  church  where  the  bells  were 
yet  ringing.  Between  the  town  he  had  quitted  and 
this  spot  he  had  met  few  people  upon  the  way.  Nor 
were  there  any  here,  where  the  two  roads  joined. 
It  lay  a  wide,  clean,  sunny  space.  But  as  he  con 
tinued  upon  the  highway  the  emptiness  of  the  world 
began  to  change.  Folk  appeared,  singly  or  in  groups, 

133 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

and  all  were  going  toward  the  ringing  bells.  Passing 
an  old  man,  he  asked,  "What  is  the  mass  for?"  and 
was  answered,  "They  are  going  over  sea." 

A  young  man,  an  artisan  with  a  bag  of  tools  in  his 
hand,  approached.  Garin  stopped  him.  "What 
lord  lives  in  yonder  castle?" 

"Sir  Eudes  de  Panemonde,"  said  the  artisan.  "He 
has  taken  the  cross  and  is  going  to  the  land  over 


sea." 


Garin  stood  still,  staring  at  him,  then  drew  his 
breath,  and  with  a  jerk  of  the  head  went  on  by. 
"The  land  over  sea!"  said  Garin.  "The  land  over 
sea!" 

There  was  a  calvary  built  by  the  roadside.  Men 
and  women  knelt  before  it,  then  rising,  hurried  on 
toward  the  church.  Close  by,  on  a  great  stone,  sat 
a  cowled  monk,  stationed  there,  it  would  seem, 
to  give  information  or  counsel.  Garin,  coming  up, 
gave  and  received  salutation. 

"Are  you  for  the  cross,  fair  son?"  demanded  the 
monk.  "  You  would  give  a  lusty  blow  to  the  infidel ! 
Take  it,  and  win  pardon  for  even  the  sins  you  dream 
of!" 

"Why,  brother,"  asked  Garin,  "does  Sir  Eudes 
de  Panemonde  go?" 

"Long years  ago,"  answered  the  monk,  "when  he 
was  a  young  man,  Sir  Eudes  committed  a  great  sin. 
He  has  done  penance,  as  this  monastery  knows,  that 
receives  his  gifts!  But  now  he  would  further  cleanse 
his  soul." 

134 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

"He  is  not  then  young  nor  of  middle-age?" 

"He  is  three-score,"  said  the  monk. 

Another  claimed  his  attention.  Garin  moved 
away,  kept  on  upon  the  road.  None  now  was  going 
his  way,  all  were  coming  from  the  direction  of  the 
castle.  There  must  be  a  little  bourg  beyond,  hidden 
by  some  arm  of  earth,  purple-sleeved.  He  thought 
that  he  saw  in  the  distance,  descending  a  hill,  a  pro 
cession.  Under  a  lime  tree  by  the  road  sat  an  old 
cripple  decently  clad,  and  with  a  grandson  and 
granddaughter  to  care  for  him.  Garin  again  stayed 
his  steps.  "What  manner  of  knight,  father,  is  Sir 
Eudes  de  Panemonde?" 

The  light  being  strong,  the  cripple  looked  from 
under  his  hand  at  the  questioner.  "Such  a  knight," 
he  said,  in  an  old  man-at-arms  voice,  "as  a  blue-and- 
tawny  young  sir-on-foot  might  be  happy  to  hold 
stirrup  for!" 

"  I  mean,"  said  Garin,  "is  he  noble  of  heart?" 

But  the  old  man  was  straining  his  eyes  castle- 
ward.  The  grandson  spoke.  "He  is  a  good  lord  — 
Sir  Eudes!  Sir  Aimar  may  be  a  better  yet." 

The  procession  was  seen  more  plainly.  "They 
are  coming,  grandfather ! "  cried  the  girl.  "Sir  Eudes 
and  Sir  Aimar  will  be  in  front,  and  the  men  they  take 
with  them.  Then  the  people  from  the  castle  and 
Panemonde  following  — " 

"Yea,  yea!"  said  the  old  cripple.  "I  have  seen 
before  to-day  folk  go  over  seas  to  save  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  and  spare  themselves  hell  pains!  They 

135 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

mean  to  come  back  —  they  mean  to  come  back. 
But  a-many  never  come,  and  we  hear  no  tales  of 
what  they  did." 

The  grandson  took  the  word.  "Jean  the  Smith 
says  that  from  the  castle  Sir  Eudes  walks  barefoot 
and  in  his  shirt  to  the  church.  That's  because  of 
his  old  sin !  Then,  when  all  that  go  have  heard  mass 
and  have  communed,  he  will  dress  and  arm  him 
self  within  the  monastery,  all  needful  things  hav 
ing  been  sent  there,  and  his  horse  as  well.  Then  all 
that  go  will  journey  on  to  the  port." 

Garin  spoke  to  the  girl.   "Who  is  Sir  Aimar?  " 

"He  is  Sir  Eudes's  son."  She  turned  upon  him  a 
lighted  face.  "He  is  a  brave  and  beautiful  knight ! " 

"Is  he  going  to  the  land  over  sea?" 

"Yes." 

A  hundred  and  more  people  were  coming  toward 
the  lime  tree,  the  calvary  beyond  it,  the  church  and 
monastery  beyond  the  calvary.  Dust  rose  from  the 
road  and  that  and  the  distance  obscured  detail. 
There  seemed  to  be  horsemen,  but  many  on  foot. 
All  the  people  strung  along  the  road  now  turned 
their  heads  that  way.  There  ran  a  murmur  of  voices. 
But  Garin  stood  in  silence  beneath  the  lime  tree, 
from  which  were  falling  pale  yellow  leaves.  He 
stood  in  a  waking  dream.  Instead  of  Languedoc  he 
saw  Palestine  —  a  Palestine  of  the  imagination.  He 
had  listened  to  palmers'  tales,  to  descriptions  given 
by  preaching  monks.  Once  a  knight- templar  had 
stayed  two  days  with  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered, 

136 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  GROSS 

and  the  castle  had  hearkened,  open-mouthed.  So 
Garin  had  material.  He  saw  a  strange,  fair  land, 
and  the  Christian  kingdoms  and  counties  planted 
there;  saw  them  as  they  were  not  or  rarely  were,  or 
only  might  be;  saw  them  dipped  in  glamour,  saw 
them  as  a  poet  would,  as  that  Prince  Rudel  did  who 
took  ship  and  went  to  find  the  Lady  of  Tripoli  — 
and  went  to  find  the  Lady  of  Tripoli.  .  .  . 

The  procession  from  the  castle  and  the  village 
beyond  coming  nearer,  its  component  parts  might 
clearly  be  discerned.  In  front  walked  two  figures, 
and  now  it  could  be  seen  that  they  were  both  in 
white. 

"Ah,  ah!"  cried  the  girl  beside  the  old  man; and 
there  were  tears  in  her  voice.  "Sir  Aimar  that  did 
not  do  the  sin,  goes  like  Sir  Eudes  — " 

The  cripple  would  be  lifted  to  his  feet  and  held  so. 
Grandson  and  daughter  put  hands  beneath  his  arms 
and  raised  him.  "So  —  so!"  he  said  querulously. 
"And  why  should  n't  the  son  go  like  a  penitent  if 
the  father  does?  That 's  only  respect!  But  the  young 
don't  respect  us  any  longer  —  " 

The  procession  came  close.  There  rode  twenty 
horsemen,  of  whom  three  or  four  wore  knights'  spurs, 
and  the  others  were  mounted  men-at-arms  and  es 
quires.  All  wore,  stitched  upon  the  mantle,  or  the 
sleeve,  or  the  breast  of  the  tunic,  crosses  of  white 
cloth.  Behind  these  men  came  others,  mounted,  but 
without  crosses  or  the  appearance  of  travellers.  They 
seemed  neighbours  to  the  lord  of  Panemonde,  men  of 

137 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

feudal  rank,  kinsmen  and  allies.  Several  might  hold 
their  land  from  him.  There  might  be  present  his 
bailiff  and  also  the  knight  or  baron  who  had  prom 
ised  to  care  for  Panemonde  as  though  it  were  his  own 
fief.  In  the  rear  of  the  train  came  the  foot-people, 
castle  retainers  and  servants,  villagers,  peasants, 
men,  women  and  children,  following  their  lord  from 
Panemonde  through  the  first  stage  of  his  travel  over 
sea.  Throughout  the  moving  assemblage  now  there 
was  solemn  silence  and  now  bursts  of  pious  ejacu 
lation,  utterances  of  enthusiasm,  adjurations  to 
God,  the  Virgin  and  the  Saints.  Or,  more  poignant 
yet,  there  were  raised  chants  of  pilgrimage.  When 
this  was  done  the  people  along  the  roadside  joined 
their  voices.  Moreover  there  were  men  and  women 
who  wept,  and  there  were  those  who  fell  into  ecstasy. 
Of  all  things  in  the  world,  in  this  age,  emotion  was 
the  nearest  at  hand. 

Garin  felt  the  infecting  wave.  At  the  head  of  the 
train,  dismounted,  barefoot,  wearing  each  a  white 
garment  that  reached  halfway  between  knee  and 
ankle,  bare-headed,  moving  a  few  paces  before  their 
own  mounted  knights,  appeared  the  lords  of  Pane 
monde,  father  and  son.  Sir  Eudes  was  white-headed, 
white-bearded,  finely-featured,  tall  and  lean.  His 
son,  Sir  Aimar,  seemed  not  older  —  or  but  little 
older  —  than  Garin's  self,  and  what  the  girl  had  said 
appeared  the  truth. 

The  two  came  close  to  the  lime  tree.  Garin,  drop 
ping  his  mantle,  stepped  into  the  road  and  fell  upon 

138 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  GROSS 

both  knees,  suppliant-wise.  "Lord  of  Panemonde," 
he  cried,  "let  me  go  with  you  to  the  land  over  the 
sea!" 

Sir  Eudes  and  his  son  stood  still,  and  behind  them 
the  riders  checked  their  horses. 

"What  is  your  name,  youth?"  asked  the  first, 
"And  whence  do  you  come?" 

"Garin  Rogier,"  answered  Garin,  "and  from  Li 
mousin.  I  was  a  younger  brother,  and  have  set 
out  to  seek  my  fortune.  Of  your  grace,  Lord  of  Pane- 
monde,  place  me  among  your  men!" 

Sir  Eudes  regarded  him  shrewdly.  "I  make  my 
guess  that  you  are  a  runaway  from  trouble." 

"If  I  am,"  said  Garin,  "it  is  no  trouble  that  will 
touch  your  honour  if  you  take  me!  I  fought,  with 
good  reason,  one  that  was  more  powerful  than  I." 

The  other  made  to  shake  his  head  and  go  on  by. 
But  Garin  spread  out  his  arms  that  he  might  not 
pass  and  still  cried,  "Take  me  with  you,  Lord  of 
Panemonde!  I  have  vowed  to  go  with  you  across 
the  sea,  and  so  to  serve  you  that  you  will  make  me  a 
knight!" 

The  two  gazed  at  him,  and  those  behind  them 
gazed.  He  kneeled,  so  resolved,  so  energized,  so  see 
ing  the  fate  he  had  chosen,  that  as  at  Castel-Noir,  so 
now,  the  glow  within  came  in  some  fashion  through 
the  material  man.  From  his  blue-grey  eyes  light 
seemed  to  dart,  his  hair,  between  gold  and  brown, 
became  a  fine  web  holding  light,  his  flesh  seemed  to 
bloom.  His  field  of  force,  expanding,  touched  them. 

139 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Mother  of  God!"  cried  Garin; 
but  what  the  man  within  meant  was,  "  Because  I 
will  it,  O  Lord  of  Panemonde!" 

The  people  on  foot,  too  far  in  the  rear  to  see  more 
than  that  there  was  a  momentary  halting  of  the 
train,  began  a  louder  singing. 

"Jerusalem! 

Shall  the  paynim  hold  thee, 
Jerusalem? 

And  shame  our  Lord  Jesus, 
Jerusalem? 

And  shame  our  blessed  Lady,  his  meek  Mother, 
Jerusalem? 

So  that  they  say,  '  Why  come  not  the  men 
To  slay  Mahound  and  cleanse  our  holy  places? 
Where  are  the  knights,  the  sergeants  and  the  footmen? ' 
Jerusalem  I 

Who  takes  the  cross  and  wendeth  over  seas, 
Jerusalem ! 

Witt  save  his  soul  thereby,  raze  out  his  sins, 
Jerusalem!" 

Sir  Eudes  de  Panemonde  stared  at  the  kneeling 
figure.  But  the  young  knight  beside  him  who  had 
stood  in  silence,  his  eyes  upon  the  suppliant,  now 
spoke.  "  Let  him  go  with  us,  father!  Give  him  to  me 
for  esquire.  —  There  is  that  that  draws  between  us." 

The  father,  who  had  a  great  affection  for  his  son, 
looked  from  him  to  Garin  and  back  again.  "  He  is  a 
youth  well-looking  and  strong,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
he  may  do  thee  good  service!" 

The  chant,  renewed,  and  taken  up  from  the  road 
side,  came  to  his  ear.  He  crossed  himself. 

140 


GARIN  TAKES  THE  CROSS 

"Nor  may  I  deny  to  our  Lord  Jesus  one  servant 
who  will  strike  down  the  infidel !  Nor  to  the  youth 
himself  the  chance  to  win  forgiveness  of  sins!"  He 
spoke  to  Garin.  ' '  Stand  up,  Garin  Rogier !  Have  you 
a  horse?" 

Garin  rose  to  his  feet.  "No,  lord.  But  I  have 
money  sufficient  to  buy  one." 

Sir  Aimar  spoke  again.  "Pierre  Avalon  will  sell 
him  one  when  we  come  to  the  monastery." 

The  father  nodded.  "Have  you  confessed  and 
received  absolution?" 

"One  week  ago,  lord.  But  when  we  come  to  the 
church  I  will  find  a  priest.  And  when  I  am  shriven 
I  will  take  the  cross." 

"Then,"  said  Sir  Eudes,  "it  is  agreed,  Garin 
Rogier.  You  are  my  man  and  my  son's  man.  As  for 
becoming  knight,  let  us  first  see  what  blows  you  deal 
and  what  measure  you  keep!  Now  delay  us  no 
longer." 

He  put  himself  into  motion,  and  his  son  walked 
beside  him.  The  mounted  men  followed,  their  horses 
stepping  slowly.  Then  came  the  stream  afoot,  and 
Garin  joined  himself  to  this. 

"  Who  takes  the  cross  and  wendeth  over  seas, 
Jerusalem ! 

Will  save  his  soul  thereby,  raze  out  his  sins, 
Jerusalem! " 

Here  was  the  calvary  again,  and  the  monk  sitting 
beside  it  — here  was  the  church,  jutting  out  from  the 
monastery  —  and  people  about  it,  and  priests  and 

141 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

monks  —  and  a  loud  and  deep  chanting  —  and  a 
mounting  sea  of  emotion.  Many  broke  into  cries, 
some,  phrensied,  fell  to  the  earth,  crying  that  they 
had  a  vision. 

"To  slay  Mahound,  and  cleanse  our  sacred  places!" 

The  mass  was  sung,  the  sacrament  given  those 
who  were  going  to  the  land  over  sea.  Garin  found 
his  priest  and  was  shriven,  then  knelt  with  the  es 
quires  and  men-at-arms  and  with  them  took  the 
Body.  Upon  his  breast  was  sewn  a  white  cross.  He 
had,  with  all  who  went,  the  indulgence.  He  was  de 
livered  from  all  the  sins  that  through  his  life,  until 
that  day,  he  had  committed. 

The  mass  was  sung.  A  splinter  of  St.  Andrew's 
cross  —  the  church's  great  possession  —  was  vener 
ated.  The  two  de  Panemondes,  rising  from  their 
knees,  passed  from  the  church  to  the  monastery,  and 
here,  in  the  prior's  room,  their  kinsmen  and  peers 
about  them,  they  were  clothed  as  knights  again. 
Without,  in  a  grey  square,  shaded  by  old  trees,  Garin 
purchased  a  horse  from  Pierre  Avalon. 

Sir  Eudes  and  his  son  came  forth  in  hauberk  and 
helm.  The  knights  for  the  ships  and  the  land  over 
the  sea  mounted,  their  followers  mounted.  Fare 
wells  were  said.  Those  who  were  going  drew  into 
ranks.  A  priest  blessed  them.  The  people  wept  and 
cried  out  blessings.  The  monks  raised  a  Latin  chant. 
The  sky  was  sapphire,  a  light  wind  carried  to  and 
fro  the  autumn  leaves.  Sir  Eudes  de  Panemonde 

142 


GARIN   TAKES  THE  CROSS 

and  his  son  touched  their  horses  with  their  gilded 
spurs.  The  knights  followed,  the  esquires  and  men- 
at-arms.  Behind  them  the  voices,  at  first  swelling 
louder,  sank  as  lengthened  the  road  between.  They 
pressed  on,  and  now  they  lost  that  sound  and  lost  the 
church,  the  monastery,  and  the  castle  of  Panemonde. 
.  .  .  Now  the  leper  by  the  roadside  was  passed,  still 
sitting  beneath  the  cross,  tinkling  his  bell.  In  the 
distance  was  seen  the  town  that  Garin  had  left  that 
morning.  The  company  did  not  enter  it,  but  turned 
aside  into  a  road  that  ran  to  the  southward  and  then 
east  and  then  south  again.  So  at  last,  to-morrow  at 
sunset,  they  would  come  to  the  port  and  to  the  ships, 
that  would  bring  them  to  Syria. 

Garin  rode  in  a  dream.  He  thought  of  Raimbaut 
and  of  Foulque,  of  Castel-Noir  and  Roche-de-Frene,, 
but  most  he  thought  of  the  Fair  Goal,  and  tried  to> 
see  her,  in  her  court  he  knew  not  where. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THIBAUT   CANTELEU 

"  WHO  would  risk  never,  risks  ever,"  said  the  Princess 
Audiart,  and  moving  her  rook,  checked  the  marshal's 
king. 

Her  cousin  Guida,  a  blonde  of  much  beauty,  sit 
ting  watching  the  game,  made  a  sound  of  demurral. 
The  marshal's  hand  hovered  over  a  piece. 

"Do  not  play  courtly,  Lord  Stephen,"  said  the 
princess.  ' '  Play  fairly ! ' ' 

Whereupon  Stephen  pushed  forward  a  different 
piece  and,  releasing  his  own  king,  put  hers  in  jeo 
pardy. 

"Now  what  will  you  do,  Audiart?"  cried  Guida. 
"You  were  too  daring!" 

"That  is  as  may  be,"  answered  the  princess,  and 
studied  the  board. 

In  the  great  fireplace  of  the  hall  beechwood  blazed 
and  helped  the  many  candles  to  give  light.  It  was 
Lenten  tide  and  cold  enough  to  make  the  huge  fire 
a  need  and  a  pleasure.  In  the  summer  the  floor  had 
been  strewn  with  buds  and  leaves,  but  now  there  lay 
upon  it  eastern  cloths  with  bear-skins  brought  from 
the  North.  There  were  seats  of  various  kinds,  — 
settles  or  benches,  divan-like  arrangements  of  cush 
ions.  Knights  and  ladies  occupied  these,  or  stood, 
or  moved  about  at  will.  So  spacious  was  the  hall 

144 


THIBAUT  CANTELEU 

that  these  and  other  folk  of  the  court  —  pages, 
jongleurs,  a  jester  with  cap-and-bells,  dogs,  a  parrot 
on  a  swinging  perch,  two  chaplains  in  a  corner,  vari 
ous  clerkly  and  scholarly  persons  such  as  never 
lacked  in  Gaucelm 's  court,  two  or  three  magnifi 
cently  dressed  people  in  the  train  of  a  Venetian,  half 
merchant,  half  noble,  and  rich  as  a  soldan,  whom 
Gaucelm  at  the  moment  entertained  —  gave  no 
feeling  of  a  throng.  The  raised  or  princely  part  of 
the  hall,  in  itself  a  goodly  space,  had  quiet  enough 
for  rational  converse,  even  for  sitting  withdrawn 
into  one's  self,  studying  with  eyes  upon  the  fire 
matters  beyond  the  beechwood  flame. 
I  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate,  seated  in  his  great,  richly 
carved  chair,  talked  with  the  Venetian.  Some  paces 
away,  but  yet  upon  the  dais,  Alazais  held  court. 
Between,  the  Princess  Audiart  played  chess  with 
Stephen  the  Marshal.  The  castle  and  town  and 
princedom  of  Roche-de-Fr^ne  and  all  that  they  held 
were  seven  years  and  some  months  older  than  upon 
that  autumn  day  when  the  squire  Garin  had  knelt 
in  the  cathedral,  and  ridden  through  the  forest, 
and  fought  for  a  shepherdess. 

The  years  had  not  made  Alazais  less  beauteous. 
She  sat  in  a  low  chair,  robed  in  buttercup  yellow 
richly  embroidered  and  edged  with  fur.  She  held  a 
silver  ball  pierced  and  filled  with  Arabian  perfumes. 
The  Venetian  had  given  it  to  her,  and  now  she  raised 
it  to  her  nostrils,  and  now  she  played  with  it  with  an 
indolent,  slow,  graceful  movement  of  her  white  hands. 

145 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

About  her  were  knights  and  ladies,  and  in  front, 
upon  a  great  silken  cushion  placed  upon  the  floor, 
sat  a  slender,  brilliant  girl  with  a  voice  of  beauty 
and  flexibility  and  a  genius  for  poetic  narration.  The 
court  took  toll  of  such  a  talent,  was  taking  toll  now. 
The  damosel,  in  a  low  and  thrilling  voice  and  with 
appropriate  gesture,  told  a  lay  of  Arthur's  knights. 
Those  around  listened;  firelight  and  candle-light 
made  play;  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  a  jongleur, 
trying  his  viol,  came  in  at  the  pauses  with  this  or 
that  sweet  strain. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  broad,  raised  space  Prince 
Gaucelm  and  the  Venetian  left  talk  of  Venice  trade, 
of  Cyprus  and  Genoa,  and  came  to  status  and  event 
this  side  the  Alps. 

"Duke  Richard  of  Aquitaine  plays  the  rebel  to 
his  father  the  King  of  England  and  quarrels  with  his 
cousin  the  King  of  France  and  wars  against  his  neigh 
bour  the  Count  of  Toulouse.  Count  Savaric  of 
Montmaure  and  his  son  Count  Jaufre  — " 

The  Princess  Audiart  won  the  game  of  chess,  won 
fairly.  "You  couch  a  good  lance  and  build  a  good 
house,  Lord  Stephen,"  she  said.  "Yesterday,  it  was 
I  who  was  vanquished!" 

Guida  had  moved  away,  joining  the  group  about 
the  girl  on  the  silk  cushion.  Stephen  the  Marshal 
took  one  of  the  ivory  chessmen  in  his  hand  and 
turned  it  from  side  to  side.  " Montmaure!"  he  said. 
"Montmaure  grows  more  puffed  with  pride  than 
mortal  man  should  be!" 

146 


THIBAUT  GANTELEU 

The  princess  nodded.  ''Yes.  My  lord  count  sees 
himself  as  the  great  fish  for  whom  the  ocean  was 
built." 

The  marshal  put  down  the  chess-piece  and  took 
up  another.  "Have  you  ever  seen  Jaufre  de  Mont- 
maure?" 

"No." 

11 1  saw  him  at  Perigueux.  He  is  tall  and  red-gold 
like  his  father,  but  darker  in  hue.  He  has  a  hawk 
nose,  and  there  is  a  strange  dagger-scar  across  his 
cheek.  —  What  is  it,  my  Lady  Audiart?" 

The  princess  was  sitting  with  parted  lips  and  with 
eyes  that  looked  far  away.  She  shivered  a  little, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "Nothing!  A  fancy.  I 
remembered  something.  But  a-many  men  have 
dagger  scars.  —  Jaufre  de  Montmaure!  No,  I  think 
that  I  never  saw  him.  Nor  do  I  wish  to  see  him. 
Let  him  stay  with  Aquitaine  and  be  his  favourite!" 

"  I  know  not  how  long  that  will  last.  Now  they 
are  ruthless  and  reckless  together,  and  they  say 
that  any  day  you  can  see  Richard's  arm  around  his 
neck.  But  Duke  Richard,"  said  the  marshal,  "is 
much  the  nobler  man." 

The  princess  laughed.  "You  give  faint  praise! 
Jesu !  If  what  they  say  of  Count  Jaufre  be  true  —  " 

There  fell  a  silence.  Stephen  the  Marshal  turned 
and  turned  the  chess-piece.  "The  prince  will  send 
me  presently  with  representations  to  King  Philip 
at  Paris." 

"  I  know.    It  seems  wise  to  do  that." 
147 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Stephen  the  Marshal; 
and  sat  silent  again.  Then,  "  I  will  find  at  Paris  fes 
tivals  and  tourneys,  no  doubt,  and  for  Roche-de- 
Frene's  honour  and  my  own,  I  must  play  my  part  in 
those  matters  also."  He  put  down  the  chess-piece, 
and  brought  his  hands  together.  "Queens  and  prin 
cesses  may  accept,  in  courtly  wise,  heart  and  devoir 
of  true  knights!  My  Lady  Audiart!  I  plead  again 
for  some  favour  of  yours  that  I  may  wear.  For,  as 
God  lives,  I  will  wear  no  other  lady's!" 

The  Princess  Audiart  looked  at  him  kindly,  a 
little  mockingly,  a  little  mournfully.  "Stephen  — 
Stephen!  will  you  be  a  better  or  a  braver  man,  or  a 
fitter  envoy  to  King  Philip,  with  my  glove  in  your 
helmet?  No,  you  will  not!" 

"I  should  be  a  happier  man,"  said  Stephen  the 
Marshal. 

"Then  almost  I  wish  that  I  might  give  it  to  you! 
But  I  cannot  —  I  cannot!"  said  the  princess.  "I 
love  earth,  fire,  air  and  water,  the  stars  in  heaven, 
the  people  of  the  earth,  and  the  thoughts  in  the 
mind,  but  I  love  no  man  after  the  fashion  that  men 
desire!  —  Turn  elsewhere,  Lord  Stephen!" 

But  Stephen  the  Marshal  shook  an  obstinate 
head.  "Saint  Mark,  my  witness,  I  shall  wear  no 
other's  favour!" 

Prince  Gaucelm  rose,  the  Venetian  with  him,  and 
crossed  to  Alazais's  side.  The  girl  of  the  silken  cush 
ion  had  ended  her  story.  The  jongleurs  distant  in 
the  hall  began  to  play  viol,  lute  and  harp.  "Let  us 

148 


THIBAUT  GANTELEU 

go  hearken,"  said  the  princess;  and,  quitting  the 
chess-table,  went  to  sit  beside  her  step-dame.  She 
had  affection  for  Alazais,  and  Alazais  for  Audiart. 
Stephen  the  Marshal  followed.  All  drew  together  to 
listen  to  sung  poesy. 

A  favourite  jongleur  had  come  forward,  harp  in 
hand.  He  was  a  dark,  wiry,  eastern-appearing  man, 
fantastically  dressed  in  brown  dashed  and  streaked 
with  orange.  When  he  had  played  a  dreamy,  rich, 
and  murmuring  air,  he  began  to  sing.  He  sang  well, 
a  fair  song  and  one  that  was  new  to  a  court  that  was 
gracious  and  hospitable  to  songs. 

"Ah,  that  goes,"  said  the  Princess  Audiart,  "like 
the  sea  in  June!" 

"It  is  like  a  chanson  of  Bernart  de  Ventadorn's," 
said  Alazais,  "and  yet  it  is  not  like  him  either. 
Who  made  it,  Elias?" 

"It  may  have  a  sound  of  the  sea,"  answered 
Elias,  "for  it  came  over  the  sea.  I  got  it  from  a 
palmer.  He  had  learned  it  at  Acre,  and  he  said  that, 
words  and  music,  the  troubadour,  Garin  de  1'Isle 
d'Or,  made  it  there." 

"Oh,  we  have  heard  of  him!  Knights  coming 
back  have  told  us  —  But  never  did  we  hear  his 
singing  before!  Again,  Elias!" 

Elias  sang.    "It  is  sweet.  —  The  Fair  Goal!11 

A  day  or  two  later,  in  this  hall,  the  Princess  Audi- 
art  sat  beside  her  father  upon  the  dais,  the  occasion 
a  hearing  given  to  the  town  of  Roche-de-Frene. 

149 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

There  was  another  than  Roche-de-Frene  to  be  re 
ceived  and  hearkened  to,  namely  an  envoy,  arrived 
the  evening  before,  from  Savaric,  Count  of  Mont- 
maure.  But  the  town  came  first,  at  the  hour  that 
had  been  set. 

The  hall  presented  a  different  scene  from  that  of 
the  other  night.  Here  now  were  ranged  the  prince's 
officers  of  state,  the  bailiff-in-chief,  executives  of 
kinds.  At  the  doors  were  ushers  and  likewise  men- 
at-arms.  Men  of  feudal  rank  stood  starkly,  right 
and  left  of  the  dais.  Others  of  the  castle  population, 
men  and  women,  who  found  an  interest  in  this 
happening,  watched  from  the  sides  of  the  hall  or 
from  the  musicians'  gallery.  Below  the  dais  sat  two 
clerks  with  pens,  ink,  sandbox,  and  parchment. 
Before  it,  in  the  middle  portion  of  the  hall,  were 
massed  fifty  of  the  citizens  of  Roche-de-Fr6ne. 

The  Princess  Audiart  sat  in  a  deep  chair,  her  arms 
upon  its  arms.  She  was  dressed  in  the  colour  of 
wine,  and  the  long  plain  folds  of  her  robe  and  man 
tle  rested  the  eye.  Her  throat  was  bare,  around  it  a 
thin  chain  of  gold  and  a  pear-shaped  ruby.  The 
thick  braids  of  her  hair  came  over  her  gown  to  her 
knee.  Between  the  dark  waves,  below  a  circlet  of 
gold,  showed  her  intent  and  brooding  face. 

Castle  and  town  were  used  to  seeing  her  there, 
beside  her  father.  Years  ago  —  when  castle  and 
town  undertook  to  remember  back  —  it  had  seemed 
strange,  but  now  use  and  wont  had  done  their  work. 
She  was  not  fair  —  they  remembered  when  they  had 

150 


THIBAUT  GANTELEU 

called  her  "the  ugly  princess"  —  but  she  was  wise. 
It  was  usual  enough  among  the  great  of  the  earth 
for  fathers  to  associate  with  them  sons.  Here  was 
a  prince-father  who  associated  with  him  his  daugh 
ter.  By  degrees  Roche-de-Frene  had  ceased  to  won 
der.  Now,  for  a  long  time,  the  fact  had  been  ac 
cepted.  Strangeness  gone,  it  seemed,  for  this  one 
spot  on  the  huge  earth,  rational. 

The  town  had  digested  that  great  meal  of  liberties 
obtained  years  ago,  that  and  smaller  loaves  since 
given.  It  was  hungry  again;  hungry  now  for  no 
slight  stop-gaps,  but  for  another  full  and  great  meal. 
For  many  months  it  had  given  the  castle  oblique 
indications  that  it  was  hungry.  Time  was  when 
Gaucelm,  a  prince  not  unbeloved,  riding  through 
Roche-de-Freiie,  met  almost  wholly  broad  smiles 
and  faces  of  welcome.  That  throughout  a  year  had 
been  changing.  Roche-de-Frene,  at  first  uncon 
sciously  reflecting  growing  desires,  but  then  more 
and  more  deliberately,  now  wore  a  face  of  hunger. 
Roche-de-Fr£ne  saw  its  interest,  and  that  another 
meal  was  to  its  interest.  But  it  did  not  wholly  ex 
pect  its  lord  at  once  to  see  that,  nor  to  identify  his 
interest  with  their  interest.  It  might,  it  believed, 
have  to  fight  its  lord  somewhat  as  other  towns  fought 
theirs.  Not  with  weapons  of  steel,  —  it  would  not 
win  there,  — •  but  with  persistent  and  mounting 
clamour  and  disaffection,  and,  most  effectively, 
with  making  trouble  as  to  tolls,  rents,  taxes,  lord's 
rights,  and  supplies. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  deputation  included  men  from  every  guild. 
Here  were  chief  dyers  in  scarlet,  weavers  of  fine 
cloth,  makers  of  weapons,  workers  in  leather, 
moulders  of  candles,  and  here  were  traders  and 
merchants,  dealers  in  wine  and  handlers  of  cattle. 
Men  of  substance  had  been  chosen,  master  work 
men  and  also  master  agitators. 

The  prince,  addressing  himself  to  a  man  of  vener 
able  aspect,  a  merchant  whose  name  was  known  in 
far  places,  asked  if  he  were  spokesman.  There  ran 
a  murmur  through  the  deputation.  It  pressed  for 
ward  a  little,  it  took  on  an  anxious  face. 

The  merchant  advanced  a  step  and  addressed  the 
dais.  "Fair,  good  lord  and  my  Lady  Audiart,  as 
you  both  know,  I  am  a  judge  of  merchant's  law,  but 
have  no  gift  of  tongue.  I  know  a  cause  when  it  is 
good,  but  God  has  not  made  me  eloquent  to  set  it 
forth  to  another  man  —  craving  pardon,  my  liege 
lord  and  my  Lady  Audiart !  So  I  will  not  speak,  may 
it  please  you  both.  But  here  is  Thibaut  Canteleu, 
the  master  of  the  saddlers  —  " 

11 1  had  expected,"  said  Prince  Gaucelm,  "to  hear 
from  Thibaut  Canteleu.  —  Stand  forth,  Thibaut!' 

The  merchant  stepped  back.  The  throng  worked 
like  a  cluster  of  bees,  then  parted,  and  out  of  it  came 
a  man  of  thirty,  square-shouldered  and  sturdy,with 
crisply  curling  black  hair,  and  black,  bold,  and 
merry  eyes.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  his  fellows' 
chosen  and  favourite,  their  predestined  leader.  The 
fifty  slanted  their  bodies  toward  him,  grew  suddenly 

152 


THIBAUT  CANTELEU 

encouraged  and  bold,  hung  upon  what  he  should 
say.  Thibaut  Canteleu  was  magnetic,  like  a  fire  for 
warmth,  an  instiller  of  courage.  He  made  a  gesture 
of  reverence  toward  the  dais. 

The  prince  smiled  slightly.  "Well,  Thibaut 
Canteleu?" 

"  Sire  and  my  Lady  Audiart,"  spoke  Thibaut, 
"  few  words  suffice  when  here  is  right  and  yon  is 
wisdom !  Sire,  these  many  years,  back  to  the  begin 
ning,  have  we  and  our  fathers  and  grandfathers  be 
fore  us,  given  to  our  lords  duteous  service.  When 
the  town  was  a  poor  village,  when  there  were  but  a 
few  huts  —  when  the  old  castle  stood  —  in  the  old 
days  before  the  memory  of  man,  we  gave  it!  And 
this  castle  and  the  old  castle  —  and  you,  lord,  and 
the  old  lords  —  have  given  us  succour  and  protec 
tion,  holding  your  shield  above  us!  Beau  sire,  we  do 
not  forget  that,  nor  that  you  are  our  lord."  As  he 
spoke  he  kneeled  down  on  both  knees,  joined  his 
hands  palm  to  palm,  and  made  a  gesture  of  placing 
them  between  other  hands.  "Sire  and  my  Lady 
Audiart,  many  castles  have  you  and  not  a  few  towns 
and  all  are  your  sworn  men.  Shall  this  town  that 
grew  up  by  your  greatest  castle  and  took  name  from 
it,  be  less  your  man  than  another?  Jesu  forbid! 
Services,  dues,  rents  and  tolls,  fair-toll  and  market- 
toll,  are  yours,  and  when  you  summon  us  we  drop 
all  and  come,  and  if  there  is  war  we  hold  the  town  for 
you  while  there  is  breath  in  us!  Yea,  and  if  there 
should  chance  to  be  needed  in  this  moment  moneys 

153 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

for  building,  for  gathering,  clothing,  and  weaponing 
men-at-arms,  for  castle-wants,  for  pilgrimages  or 
sending  knights  to  the  land  over  the  sea,  for  found 
ing  of  abbeys  and  buying  of  books  and  holy  relics, 
or  for  any  other  great  and  especial  matter,  we 
stand  ready,  lord,  to  raise  as  swiftly  as  may  be, 
that  supply." 

He  came  to  a  period  in  his  speech,  still  kneeling. 
"That  is  good  hearing,  Thibaut  Canteleu!"  said 
Gaucelm  the  Fortunate.  He  spoke  with  equanim 
ity,  with  his  large  scope  of  humour.  He  was  as  big 
as  a  mountain  range,  and  as  became  mountains  he 
seemed  to  be  able  to  see  in  various  directions. 
"Now,"  he  said,  "let  us  hear,  Thibaut,  what  your 
lords  must  do!" 

"Fair,  good  lord—  " 

"We  are  yet  to  guard  Roche-de-Fr6ne  from  wolf- 
neighbour  and  fox-neighbour,  Count  Dragon  and 
King  Lion?  Have  you  heard  tell  of  the  siege  in  your 
grandfather's  time?  But  well  I  wot  that  the  town 
has  no  enemies,  that  none  is  jealous  of  its  trade,  that 
no  wolf  thinks,  '  Now  if  I  had  its  market  —  or  if  I 
had  it  with  its  market!'  and  no  dragon  ponders, 
1  What  if  I  put  forth  a  claw  and  drag  these  weavers 
and  dyers  and  saddlers  where  they  may  weave  and 
dye  and  work  in  leather  for  me?  When  I  have  them 
in  my  den  they  may  whistle  not  for  new,  but  for  old 
freedoms! ' — We  are  yet  to  keep  Roche-de-Frene  in 
as  fair  safety  as  we  may?" 

"Lord,  lord,"  said  Thibaut,  "are  we  not  of  one 

154 


THIBAUT  CANTELEU 

another?  If  you  are  strong  to  keep  us  safe,  are  we 
not  strong  to  make  you  wealth?" 

"My  father  gave  you  freedoms,  and  often  have  I 
heard  him  say  that  he  repented  his  giving!  Then  I 
ruled,  and  for  a  time  held  to  that  later  mind  of  his. 
Then  about  many  matters  I  formed  my  own  mind, 
and  in  larger  measure  than  he  had  given,  I  granted 
freedom.  For  a  fair  space  of  time  you  rested  con 
tent.  Then  you  began  to  ask  again.  And  again,  now 
this  grant  and  now  that,  I  have  given!" 

He  ceased  to  speak,  sitting  dressed  in  bronze 
samite,  with  a  knight's  belt  of  finest  work,  and  on 
his  head  a  circlet  of  gold. 

Thibaut  Canteleu  still  kneeled.  Now  he  raised  his 
black  eyes.  "Lord,  why  did  you  give?" 

"Because  it  seemed  to  me  right,"  said  Prince 
Gaucelm. 

Thibaut  spread  his  hands.  The  corners  of  the 
Princess  Audiart's  lips  twitched.  She  glanced  aside 
at  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate,  and  a  very  sweet  and 
loving  look  came  like  a  beam  of  light  into  her  face. 
She  said  under  her  breath, "Ah,  Jesu!  Judgement  in 
this  matter  has  been  given!  "  turned  her  head  and 
retook  the  intent  and  brooding  look.  Her  eyes,  that 
had  marked  width  between  them,  received  impres 
sion  from  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  hall.  She 
gathered  each  slight  movement  and  change  in  the 
deputation  of  citizens ;  and  as  for  Thibaut  Canteleu, 
she  saw  that  Thibaut,  also,  grasped  that  judgement 
had  been  given. 

155 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Prince  Gaucelm  sat  without  movement  of  body  or 
change  of  look.  His  size  did  not  give  him  a  seeming 
of  heaviness,  nor  the  words  that  he  had  spoken  take 
power  from  his  aspect.  He  did  not  seem  conscious 
of  their  effect  upon  others.  He  sat  in  silence,  then 
shook  himself  and  returned  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
"Tell  us  now,  Thibaut  Canteleu,  what  it  is  that  the 
town  desires." 

"Lord,"  said  Canteleu,  "we  wish  and  desire  to 
elect  our  own  magistrates.  And  our  disputes  and 
offences  —  saving  always,  lord,  those  that  are  truly 
treasonable  or  that  err  against  Holy  Church  —  we 
wish  and  desire  to  bring  into  our  own  courts  and 
before  judges  of  our  choosing." 

A  sharp  sound  ran  through  the  hall  —  that  por 
tion  of  it  that  was  not  burgher.  Truly  Roche-de- 
Frene  was  making  a  demand  immense,  portentous 
—  The  red  was  in  the  faces  of  the  prince's  bailiffs 
and  in  those  of  other  officials.  But  Gaucelm  the 
Fortunate  maintained  a  quietness.  He  looked  at 
Thibaut  Canteleu  as  though  he  saw  the  genera 
tions  behind  him  and  the  generations  ahead.  He 
spoke. 

"That  is  what  you  now  wish  and  ask?" 

"Lord,  that  is  what  we  wish  and  ask." 

"And  if  I  agree  not?" 

"We  are  your  merchants  and  artisans,  lord! 
What  can  we  do?  But  are  love  and  ready  service 
naught?  Fair  good  lord,  and  my  Lady  Audiart,  we 
hold  that  we  ask  a  just  —  yea,  as  God  lives,  a  right- 

156 


THIBAUT  CANTELEU 

ecus  thing!  Moreover,  we  think,  lord,  that  we  plead, 
not  to  such  as  the  Count  of  Montmaure,  but  to 
Roche-de-Frene!" 

Behind  him  spread  a  deep,  corroboratory  murmur, 
a  swaying  of  bodies  and  nodding  of  heads.  The 
winter  sunshine,  streaming  in  through  long,  narrow 
windows,  made  luminous  the  positive  colours,  the 
greens,  blues,  reds  of  apparel,  the  faces  swarthy,  rosy 
or  pale,  the  workman  hands  and  the  caps  held  in 
them,  the  smoother  merchant  hands  and  the  better 
caps  held  in  them.  It  lighted  Thibaut  Canteleu,  still 
kneeling,  in  a  blue  tunic  and  grey  hose,  a  blue  cap 
upon  the  pavement  beside  him. 

The  prince  spoke.  "Get  you  to  your  feet,  Thibaut, 
and  depart,  all  of  you!  A  week  from  to-day,  at  this 
hour,  come  again,  and  you  shall  be  answered." 

Thibaut  Canteleu  took  up  his  cap  and  rose  from 
his  knees.  He  made  a  deep  reverence  to  the  dais, 
then  stepped  backward.  All  the  deputation  moved 
backward,  kept  their  faces  toward  the  prince  until 
they  reached  the  doors  out  of  which  they  passed, 
between  the  men-at-arms.  The  blur  of  red  and  blue 
and  green,  of  faces  pale  or  sanguine  or  swarthy,  fil 
tered  away,  disappeared.  The  hall  became  again  all 
castle  —  a  place  of  lord  and  lady,  knight,  esquire, 
man-at-arms,  and  page,  a  section  of  the  world  of 
chivalry.  All  around  occurred  a  slight  shifting  of 
place,  a  flitting  of  whispers.  The  prince  stirred, 
turned  slightly  in  his  great  chair,  and  spoke  in  an 
undertone  to  his  daughter.  She  answered  in  as  low 

157 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

a  voice,  sitting  quite  still,  her  long,  slender  hands 
resting  upon  the  arms  of  her  chair. 

Gaucelm  nodded,  then  spoke  to  the  seneschal 
standing  to  the  right  of  the  dais.  "Now  will  we  hear 
Montmaure's  envoy." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MONTMAURE 

THERE  came  into  the  hall,  ushered  by  the  seneschal 
and  walking  with  Stephen  the  Marshal  to  whom  had 
been  confided  his  entertainment,  a  knight  banneret, 
very  good-looking,  very  sumptuously  attired,  with 
an  air  of  confidence  verging  on  audacity.  Behind 
and  attending  him  were  two  other  knights,  lesser 
men ;  behind  these,  three  esquires.  All  were  dressed 
with  a  richness;  all,  indefinably,  stood  in  a  debatable 
strip  between  friend  and  foe. 

The  envoy  came  before  the  dais.  On  yesterday 
welcome  had  been  given  him,  and  to-day  set  to  hear 
the  desires  of  Count  Savaric  of  Montmaure.  Now, 
Gaucelm  being,  by  virtue  of  three  castles,  his  lord's 
lord,  the  envoy  just  bent  the  knee,  then  straight 
ened  himself  and  stood  prepared  to  give  that  forth 
which  the  count  had  preferred  to  send  by  word 
of  mouth  rather  than  by  written  letter.  There 
occurred,  however,  some  delay.  A  wider  audience 
than  had  gathered  to  the  town's  hearing  would 
come  to  hear  what  Savaric  of  Montmaure  had  to 
say.  Lord  and  lady,  knight  and  squire,  were  enter 
ing,  and  now  came  Alazais,  clad  in  white  bordered 
with  ermine.  Her  lord  made  her  welcome ;  the  Prin 
cess  Audiart,  rising,  stood  until  she  was  seated.  Her 

159 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

ladies,  fair  and  gaily  dressed,  made  about  her  a  col 
oured  cloud.  Two  that  were  Audiart's  came  and 
stood  behind  that  princess. 

At  last,  quiet  falling,  the  prince  once  more  gave 
to  Montmaure's  envoy  words  of  welcome,  then, 
"We  should  have  been  glad,"  he  said,  "to  have 
greeted  in  friendly  wise  Count  Savaric  himself!  His 
son,  too,  who  is  said  to  be  a  puissant  knight." 

"So  please  you,  they  may  come  some  day  to 
Roche-de-Frene,  the  one  and  the  other,"  answered 
the  envoy.  "But  now  my  master,  the  great  count, 
is  busy  at  home  where  he  makes  a  muster  of  lords 
who  are  his  men.  At  Autafort,  with  Duke  Richard, 
is  the  young  count,  Sir  Jaufre,  red-gold,  shining  and 
mighty,  like  a  star  of  high  fortune!" 

"The  'great  count,'  "  said  Gaucelm,  with  suavity, 
"  is  well  employed.  And  you  grow  a  poet,  Sir  Guiraut 
of  the  Vale,  when  you  speak  of  the  young  count." 

"Sir,"  said  Guiraut  of  the  Vale,  "he  is  poet  him 
self  and  theme  of  poets!  He  is  the  emerald  of 
knights,  the  rose  of  chivalry !  That  lady  counts  her 
self  fortunate  for  whom  he  rides  in  tournament. 
His  lance  unhorses  the  best  knights,  and  behind  him, 
in  his  quarrels,  are  the  many  spears  of  Montmaure 
—  I  will  be  highly  bold  and  say  the  spears,  for  num 
ber  like  the  trees  in  the  forest,  of  Duke  Richard  of 
Aquitaine!" 

Gaucelm  smiled.  "Duke  Richard,"  he  said, 
"hath  just  now,  I  think,  need  of  his  spears  before 
Toulouse." 

160 


MONTMAURE 

Guiraut  of  the  Vale  waved  his  hand.  "Count 
Raymond  will  come  to  terms,  and  the  Duke's  spears 
be  released.  But  all  this,  sir,  is  not  the  matter  of 
my  message!  Truly,  when  I  think  of  Count  Jaufre 
I  forget  myself  in  praises!" 

"Guiraut,  Guiraut!"  thought  the  Princess  Audi- 
art.  "  You  forget  not  one  word  of  what  you  have  been 
taught  to  say!" 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  spoke  with  serenity.  "A 
servant  so  devoted  is  as  a  sack  of  gold  in  the  count's 
treasury !  — Now  your  message,  sir  envoy,  and  the 
matter  upon  which  you  were  sent?" 

Guiraut  of  the  Vale  breathed  deep,  lifted  his  chest 
beneath  bliaut  and  robe  of  costly  stuffs,  made  his 
shoulders  squarer,  included  now  in  the  scope  of  his 
look  alike  Gaucelm  and  his  daughter. 

"  Prince  of  Roche-de-Frene,"  he  said,  "it  is  to  my 
point  —  though  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  my  witness  I 
am  not  so  commissioned !  —  to  cause  you  and  this 
priceless  lady,  the  princess  your  daughter,  to  see  Sir 
Jaufre  de  Montmaure  as  the  glass  of  the  world  shows 
him,  the  brightest  coal  upon  the  hearth  of  chivalry! 
The  world  hears  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Princess  Audi- 
art  —  well  wot  I  that  did  she  see  and  greet  him,  she 
would  value  this  knight  aright !  As  for  him,  like  his 
sword  to  his  side,  he  would  wear  there  this  wisdom ! 
Fair  prince,  my  master,  the  great  count,  would  see 
Montmaure  and  Roche-de-Frene  one  in  wedlock. 
Count  Savaric  of  Montmaure  offers  his  son,  Count 
Jaufre,  for  bridegroom  to  the  Princess  Audiart!" 

161 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  great  hall  rustled  loudly.  Only  the  dais 
seemed  quiet,  or  only  the  two  figures  immediately 
fronting  Sir  Guiraut  of  the  Vale.  Out  of  the  throng 
seemed  to  come  a  whisper,  electric  and  flowing, 
"Here  is  a  suitor  that  would  hang  Roche-de-Frene 
at  his  belt!"  It  lifted  and  deepened,  the  whispering 
and  muttering.  It  took  the  tone  of  distant  thunder. 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  raised  his  hand  for  quiet. 
When  it  was  attained  he  spoke  courteously  to  Gui 
raut  of  the  Vale.  "  Count  Savaric  echoes  my  soul 
when  he  would  have  peace  and  friendliness  and  not 
enmity  between  Roche-de-Freiie  and  Montmaure. 
Certes,  that  may  be  brought  about,  or  this  way  or 
that  way!  For  the  way  that  he  advances,  it  must 
be  considered,  and  that  with  gravity  and  courteous- 
ness.  But,  such  is  the  plenitude  of  life,  the  same  city 
may  be  reached  by  many  roads." 

"Beseeching  your  pardon,"  said  Guiraut  of  the 
Vale,  "that  is  true  of  many  cities,  but  not,  accord 
ing  to  the  count  my  master,  of  this  one!" 

The  hall  rustled  again.  The  lord  of  Roche-de- 
Fr£ne  sat  quietly  in  his  great  chair,  but  he  bent 
upon  Montmaure's  envoy  a  look  profound  and 
brooding.  At  last  he  spoke.  "We  are  not  to  be 
threated,  Sir  Guiraut  of  the  Vale,  into  a  road  what 
soever!  Nor  is  this  city,  that  is  only  to  be  reached 
so,  of  such  importance,  perhaps,  to  Roche-de- 
Frene  as  imagineth  the  'great  count."  Wherewith 
he  ceased  to  deal  with  Guiraut  and  spoke  aside  to 
his  daughter. 

162 


MONTMAURE 

The  Princess  Audiart  rose  from  her  chair.  She 
stood  in  long,  flowing  red  shading  from  the  cherry 
of  her  under-robe  through  the  deepened  crimson  of 
the  bliaut  to  the  almost  black  of  her  mantle.  At  the 
base  of  her  bare  throat  glowed  on  its  chain  of  gold 
the  pear-shaped  ruby. 

" To-day,  Sir  Guiraut  of  the  Vale,"  she  said,  "we 
receive  the  count  your  master's  fair  proffer  of  his 
son  for  my  bridegroom.  For  my  part,  I  thank  the 
count  for  his  courtesy  and  good-will  and  fair  words 
to  me- ward.  The  prince  my  father  consenting,  one 
week  from  to-day,  here  in  the  hall,  you  shall  have 
answer  to  bear  back.  Until  then,  the  prince  my 
father,  and  the  princess  my  fair  and  good  step-dame, 
and  myself,  who  must  feel  the  honour  your  master 
does  me,  and  all  the  knights  and  ladies  of  this  court 
give  you  fair  welcome !  An  we  may,  we  will  make  the 
days  until  then  pass  pleasantly  for  a  knight  of  whose 
valiancy  this  castle  is  not  ignorant." 

She  spoke  without  pride  or  feeling  in  her  voice, 
simply,  in  the  tone  of  princely  courtesy.  A  stranger 
could  not  have  told  if  she  liked  that  proffer  or  no. 
Guiraut  of  the  Vale  made  obeisance.  Prince  Gau- 
celm  rose,  putting  an  end  to  the  audience. 

Two  hours  later  he  came  to  the  chamber  of  the 
ugly  princess.  It  was  a  room  set  in  a  tower,  large, 
with  narrow  windows  commanding  three  directions. 
A  curtained  archway  showed  a  smaller,  withdrawing 
room.  Rugs  lay  upon  the  oaken  floor  and  the  walls 
were  hidden  by  hangings  worked  with  the  wander- 

163 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

ings  of  Ulysses.  The  bed  had  silken  curtains  and  a 
rich  coverlet.  Jutting  from  the  hearth  came  a  great 
cushioned  settle.  There  were  chairs,  carven  chests 
for  wardrobe,  a  silver  image  of  the  Virgin,  nearby  a 
row  of  books.  Present  in  the  room  when  the  prince 
came  were  the  Lady  Guida  and  the  girl  who  had  told 
in  hall  the  story  of  Arthur's  knights.  These,  upon 
his  entrance,  took  embroidery-frame  and  book,  and 
disappeared  into  the  smaller  room. 

Prince  Gaucelm  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  settle  by 
the  hearth.  The  Princess  Audiart  now  stood  before 
him,  and  now  walked  with  slow  steps  to  one  or  an 
other  window  and  back  again.  The  prince  watched 
her. 

"Audiart,  Audiart!"  he  said  at  last;  "I  doubt  me 
that  the  hey-day  and  summer  of  peace  has  passed 
for  Roche-de-Frene!" 

"Winter  is  the  time  between  summers/' 

"Have  it  so.  ...  It  was  wise  to  delay  this  knight 
the  week  out." 

"Ah,  where  is  Wisdom?  Even  the  hem  of  her 
mantle  turns  out  to  be  a  stray  light-beam  in  shadow. 
But  it  seemed  wiser.  So  one  may  think  a  little." 

"Now,  by  God  Almighty!"  said  Gaucelm,  "it 
needs  not  much  thinking!" 

"No.  But  still  one  may  take  time  and  speak 
Montmaure  fair,  while  we  study  what  will  come  and 
how  we  meet  and  defeat  it.  ...  Let  us  deal  first 
with  Thibaut  Canteleu  and  Roche-de-Frene." 

Gaucelm  the  Fortunate,  leaning  forward,  warmed 

164 


MONTMAURE 

his  hands  at  the  fire  which  was  burning  with  a  sing 
ing  sound.  "Aye,  my  burghers — Child,  all  over 
the  green  earth  they  cease  to  be  mine  or  another's 
burghers!" 

"They  grow  to  be  their  own  men.    Yes." 

"Gaucelm  of  the  Star  thought  that  idea  the 
strangest,  most  abhorrent!  —  and  his  father  before 
him  —  and  so  backward  into  time.  It  outraged  them, 
angering  the  very  core  of  the  heart  within  them! 
Late  and  soon  they  would  have  fought  the  town!" 

"Or  late  or  soon  they  would  have  lost.  —  Does  it 
in  truth  anger  us  that  Thibaut  Canteleu  and  the 
others  should  wish  to  choose  their  magistrates?" 

"No.    Montmaure  angers  me,  but  not  Thibaut." 

"Then  let  us  act  toward  the  town  from  our  own 
thought  and  mind,  and  not  from  that  of  our  fathers." 

She  paced  the  floor.  "I  sorrow  for  Bishop  Ugo's 
disappointment.  It  will  be  a  sword  thrust  if  we  and 
the  town  embrace!" 

"Aye.  Ugo  desires  that  quarrel  for  us.  ...  Well, 
then  we  say  to  Thibaut  Canteleu,  'Burgher,  grow 
your  own  man!'" 

"I  counsel  it,"  said  Audiart.    "It  is  right." 

"And  wise?" 

t  She  turned  from  the  window.  "Pardieu!  If  war 
is  upon  us  Montmaure's  self  might  say  that  it  were 
wise!" 

The  prince  pondered  it.  "Yes  —  Put,  then,  Thi 
baut  Canteleu  and  the  town  to  one  side.  Now 
Montmaure  —  Montmaure  —  Montmaure!" 

165 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

The  princess  came  to  the  settle  and  sat  down, 
leaning  her  elbow  upon  a  small  table  drawn  before 
it.  Upon  the  table  lay  writing  materials,  together 
with  a  number  of  small  counters  and  figures  of  wood. 
There  was  also  a  drawing,  a  rude  map  as  it  were,  of 
the  territory  of  Roche-de-Frene,  bordered  by  the 
names  of  contiguous  great  fiefs.  She  drew  this  be 
tween  them,  and  the  two,  father  and  daughter, 
studied  it  as  they  talked.  With  her  left  hand  she 
moved  the  little  pieces  of  wood  to  and  fro.  Upon 
each  was  painted  a  name  —  names  of  castles,  towns, 
villages,  abbeys  that  held  from  Gaucelm.  One  piece 
had  the  name  of  that  fief  for  which  Montmaure  had 
been  wont  to  give  homage. 

Gaucelm  looked  at  the  long  space  upon  the  draw 
ing  marked  "Aquitaine."  "Guiraut  of  the  Vale  is 
a  braggart.  I  know  not  if  he  bragged  beyond  rea 
son  of  Richard's  great  help." 

"  It  is  like  enough  that  he  did.  But  Richard  Lion- 
Heart  has  often  backed  another's  quarrel.  Pity  he 
looks  not  to  see  if  it  be  stained  or  clean ! " 

"Toulouse  still  holds  him.  .  .  .  Stephen  the  Mar 
shal  must  go  quickly  to  King  Philip  at  Paris." 

"  Yes.  Before  Guiraut  of  the  Vale's  week  is  gone 
by  —  or  right  upon  that  departure?  Right  upon  it, 
I  think." 

"Yes.  No  need  to  show  Guiraut  what  you  ex 
pect."  He  touched  the  wooden  pieces  with  his 
finger,  running  over  the  names  of  his  barons.  "Let 
ters  must  be  written  and  heralds  sent.  Madonna 

166 


MONTMAURE 

Alazais  and  Guida,  Raimon  Seneschal  and  Aimeric 
the  Gay,  had  best  plan  shining  and  dazzling  enter 
tainment  for  Guiraut  and  his  following.  ...  I  know 
well  that  the  'great  count'  is  making  his  muster." 

"He  makes  no  secret  of  it.  ...  But  one  road  to 
peace  for  Roche-de-Frene" 

"That  is  not  a  road,"  said  Prince  Gaucelm,  "or  it 
is  a  road  of  dishonour.  Savaric  of  Montmaure  and 
his  son  have  in  them  a  demon.  Waste  no  words 
upon  a  way  that  we  are  not  going!" 

He  took  a  quill  from  the  table,  dipped  it  into  ink, 
and  began  to  write  upon  a  bit  of  paper,  making  a 
computation  of  strength.  He  put  down  many  lords 
whose  suzerain  he  was,  and  beneath  each  name  its 
quota  of  knights,  sergeants,  and  footmen,  the  walled 
towns  besides  Roche-de-Fr6ne  that  called  him  lord, 
the  villages,  the  castles,  manors,  and  religious  houses, 
Roche-de-Frene  itself,  and  this  great  castle  that 
had  never  been  taken.  He  added  allies  to  the  list, 
and  the  sum  of  gold  and  silver  he  thought  he 
could  command,  and  with  part  of  it  purchase  free 
companies.  He  paused,  then  added  help  —  an  un 
certain  quantity  —  from  his  suzerain,  King  Philip. 
"It  is  a  fair  setting- forth,"  said  Gaucelm  the  For 
tunate.  "Once,  and  that  not  so  long  ago,  Mont 
maure  would  not  in  his  most  secret  dream  have 
dared  — .  But  he  has  made  favour  and  wily  bar 
gains,  and  snapping  up  this  fief  and  that,  played  the 
great  carp  in  the  pool !  And  now  drifts  by  this  fancy 
of  Aquitaine  for  Count  Jaufre,  and  he  seizes  it." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

"Aye,  it  is  Richard  that  gives  sunshine  to  his 
war!" 

Gaucelm  rose  from  the  settle.  "I  love  not  war, 
though  we  live  in  a  warring  world.  Little  by  little, 
child,  it  may  change." 

The  day  passed,  the  evening  of  courtly  revel,  of 
paces  woven  around  Guiraut  of  the  Vale.  The  Prin 
cess  Audiart  was  again  in  her  chamber,  her  women 
dismissed,  the  candles  extinguished,  the  winter  stars 
looking  in  at  window,  fresh  logs  upon  the  hearth 
casting  tongues  of  light.  These  struck  in  places  the 
pictured  hangings.  Here  Ulysses  dallied  with  Ca 
lypso  and  here  he  met  Circe.  Here  Nausicaa  threw 
the  ball,  and  here  Penelope  wove  the  web  and  unrav 
elled  it,  and  here  Minerva  paced  with  shield  and 
spear.  The  figures  were  as  rude  as  the  hues  were 
bright,  but  a  fresh  and  keen  imagination  brought 
them  into  human  roundness  and  proportion. 

Audiart  lay  in  her  bed,  and  they  surrounded  her 
as  they  had  done  since  early  girlhood  when  at  her  en 
treaty  this  chamber  in  the  White  Tower  had  been 
given  her.  She  was  glad  now  to  be  alone  with  the 
familiar  figures  and  with  the  fitful  firelight  and 
the  stars  that,  when  the  hearth-blaze  sank,  she  could 
see  through  the  nearest  window.  She  was  read  in  the 
science  of  her  time;  those  points  of  light,  white  or 
bluish  or  golden,  had  for  her  an  interest  of  the  mind 
and  of  the  spirit.  Now,  through  the  window,  there 
gleamed  in  upon  her  one  of  the  astrologers'  " royal'* 
stars.  She  by  no  means  believed  all  that  the  astrol- 

168 


MONTMAURE 

ogers  said.  She  was  sceptic  toward  much  that  was 
preached,  doubted  the  usefulness  of  much  that  was 
done,  and  yet  could  act  though  she  doubted.  When 
doubt,  growing,  became  a  sense  of  probability,  then 

—  swerve  her  as  it  might  from  her  former  course  — 
she  would  act,  as  forthright  as  might  be,  in  the  inter 
est  of  that  sense. 

The  star  shone  in  the  western  window  —  red  Alde- 
baran.  "  You  look  like  war,  Aldebaran,  Aldebaran ! " 
thought  the  princess.  "Come,  tell  me  if  Gaucelm, 
the  good  man,  will  win  over  Savaric,  the  wicked  man 

—  You  tell  naught  —  you  tell  naught!" 

She  turned  on  her  side  and  spread  her  arms  and 
buried  her  face  between  them,  and  lay  so  for  some 
minutes.  Then  she  rose  from  the  bed,  and  taking 
from  a  chair  beside  it  a  long  and  warm  robe  of  fine 
wool,  slipped  her  arms  into  its  great  hanging  sleeves, 
girded  it  around  her  and  crossed  to  the  southward- 
giving  window.  She  looked  forth  and  down  upon 
wall  and  moat,  and  beyond  upon  the  roofs  of  Roche- 
de-Frene.  A  warder  pacing  the  walk  below,  passed 
with  a  gleam  of  steel  from  her  sight.  A  convent  bell 
rang  midnight.  There  was  no  moon,  but  the  night 
burned  with  stars.  One  shot  above  the  town,  leav 
ing  a  swiftly  fading  line  of  light.  She  saw  all  the 
roofs  that  lay  this  way  and  knew  them.  Castle  and 
town,  river  and  bridge,  and  the  country  beyond,  felt 
not  seen  to-night  —  they  were  home,  bathed,  suf 
fused,  coloured  by  the  profound,  the  inmost  self, 
part  of  the  self,  dissolving  into  it.  She  stood  before 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

the  window,  a  hand  upon  either  wall,  and  her  heart 
yearned  over  Roche-de-Frene.  Again  a  star  shot, 
below  her  the  warder  passed  again.  Suddenly  she 
thought  of  Jaufre  de  Montmaure,  and  much  dis 
liked  the  thought.  She  spoke  to  the  stars.  "Ah,"  she 
said,  "it  is  much  misery  at  times  to  be  a  woman!" 

A  week  from  that  day,  in  the  castle  hall,  crowded 
from  end  to  end,  —  Bishop  Ugo  here  to-day  with 
churchmen  behind  him,  ranks  of  knights,  Gaucelm's 
great  banner  spread  behind  the  dais,  and  against  it 
his  shield  blazoned  with  the  orbs  and  wheat-sheafs 
of  Roche-de-Frene  and  the  motto  /  build;  every 
where  a  richness  of  spectacle,  an  evidenced  power,  a 
high  vitality,  a  tension  as  of  the  bow  string  before 
the  skilled  arrow  flies,  —  Thibaut  Canteleu  received 
the  answer  for  the  town,  and  Guiraut  of  the  Vale  the 
answer  for  Count  Savaric  of  Montmaure.  Behind 
Thibaut  was  the  deputation  that  had  attended  be 
fore,  the  same  blues  and  greens  and  reds,  bright  as 
stained  glass,  the  same  faces  swarthy,  or  lacking 
blood,  or  pink  and  white  of  hue.  Thibaut  knelt  in 
his  blue  tunic  and  grey  hosen,  his  cap  beside  him  on 
the  pavement. 

Henceforth  the  town  of  Roche-de-Frene  should 
choose  its  own  officers  —  mayor,  council  and  others. 
Likewise  it  should  give  judgement  through  judges  of 
its  election  upon  its  own  offenders  —  always  except 
ing  those  cases  that  came  truly  before  its  lord's 
bailiff-court.  Prince  Gaucelm  gave  decision  gravely, 
without  haughtiness,  or  warning  against  abuse  of 

170 


MONTMAURE 

kindness,  or  claim  upon  increased  loyalty,  and  with 
out  many  words.  Roche-de-Frene  took  it,  first,  in  a 
silence  complete  and  striking,  then  with  a  long  breath 
and  fervent  exclamation. 

Thibaut  Canteleu  lifted  his  cap  and  stood  up. 
He  faced  the  dais  squarely.  "My  lord  the  prince 
and  my  Lady  Audiart,  give  you  thanks !  As  you  deal 
justly,  so  may  this  town  deal  justly!  As  you  fight 
for  us  so  may  we  fight  for  you !  As  you  give  us  lov 
ing-kindness,  so  may  we  give  you  loving-kindness! 
As  you  measure  to  us,  so  may  we  measure  to  you! 
May  you  live  long,  lord,  and  be  prince  of  us  and  of 
our  children !  And  you,  my  Lady  Audiart,  may  you 
stay  with  us,  here  in  Roche-de-Frene!" 

Whereby  it  might  be  guessed  that  Thibaut  and 
Roche-de-Frene  knew  well  enough  of  Guiraut  of  the 
Vale's  errand.  Probably  they  did.  The  time  was 
electric,  and  Montmaure  had  been  seen  for  some 
time,  looming  upon  the  horizon.  Roche-de-Fr£ne, 
nor  no  town  striving  for  liberties,  cared  for  Mont 
maure.  He  was  of  those  who  would  strangle  in  its 
cradle  the  infant  named  Middle  Class. 

Gaucelm  thanked  the  burghers  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,  and  the  Princess  Audiart  said,  "  I  thank  you, 
Thibaut  Canteleu,  and  all  these  with  you." 

The  fifty  were  marshalled  aside.  They  did  not 
leave  the  hall ;  it  behooved  them  to  stay  and  hear 
the  answer  to  Montmaure. 

All  the  gleaming  and  coloured  particles  slightly 
changed  place,  the  bowstring  tension  grew  higher. 

171 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Here  was  now  Guiraut  of  the  Vale,  the  accompany 
ing  knights  behind  him,  standing  to  hear  what  an 
swer  he  should  take  to  the  Count  of  Montmaure. 
The  answer  given  him  to  take  was  brief,  clothed  in 
courtesy,  and  without  a  hint  in  its  voice  or  eye  of 
the  possibility  of  untoward  consequences.  Roche  de 
Frene  thanked  Montmaure  for  the  honour  meant, 
but  the  Princess  Audiart  was  resolved  not  to  wed. 

Guiraut  of  the  Vale,  magnificent  in  dress  and  air, 
heard,  and  towered  a  moment  in  silence,  then  flung 
out  his  hands,  took  a  tone,  harsh  and  imperious. 
"You  give  me,  Prince  of  Roche-de-Frene,  an  ill 
answer  with  which  to  return  to  the  great  count,  my 
master!  You  set  a  bale-fire  and  a  threat  upon  the 
one  road  of  peace  between  your  land  and  Mont 
maure  !  And  for  that  my  master  was  foretold  by  a 
sorceress  that  so  would  you  answer  him,  I  am  here 
not  unprovided  with  an  answer  to  your  answer!" 
With  that  he  made  a  stride  forward  and  flung  down 
a  glove  upon  the  dais,  at  Gaucelm's  feet.  "Gau- 
celm  the  Fortunate,  Montmaure  will  war  upon  you 
until  he  and  his  son  shall  sit  where  now  you  and 
your  daughter  are  seated!  Montmaure  will  war 
upon  you  until  men  know  you  as  Gaucelm  the  Un 
happy!  Montmaure  will  war  upon  you  until  the 
Princess  Audiart  shall  kneel  for  mercy  to  Count 
Jaufre  —  " 

The  hall  shouted  with  anger.  The  ranks  of  knights 
slanted  toward  the  envoy.  Gaucelm 's  voice  at  last 
brought  quiet.  "The  man  is  a  herald  and  sacred! 

172 


MONTMAURE 

—My  lord  Stephen  the  Marshal,  take  up  the  Count 
of  Montmaure's  glove!" 

So  began  the  war  between  Roche-de-Frene  and 
Montmaure. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   VENETIAN 

THAT  year  Saladin  was  victor  in  Syria  and  the  King 
dom  of  Jerusalem  fell.  Many  a  baron,  knight,  and 
footman  was  slain  that  year  in  the  land  over  the 
sea !  Those  who  could  escape  left  that  place  of  burn 
ing  heat  and  Paynim  victory.  Another  crusade 
they  might  go,  but  here  and  now  was  downfall!  A 
part  survived  and  reached  their  homes,  and  apart 
perished  at  sea,  or  in  shipwreck  on  strange  shores. 
Sir  Eudes  de  Panemonde,  an  old  man  now  and 
bent,  came  home  to  his  castle  and  fief.  With  him 
came  his  son,  Sir  Aimar,  a  beautiful  and  brave 
knight,  all  bronzed  with  the  sun,  with  fame  on  his 
shield  and  crest.  With  them  came  a  third  knight, 
bronzed  too  by  the  sun,  with  fame  on  his  shield 
and  crest.  He  had  been  Garin  de  Castel-Noir,  and 
then  Garin  Rogier,  and  now,  for  five  years,  Sir 
Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,  —  Garin  de  1'Isle  d'Or, 
—  known  in  the  land  over  the  sea  for  exploits  of 
an  extreme,  an  imaginative  daring,  and  also  for  the 
songs  he  made  and  sang  in  Frank  and  English  for 
tress  halls.  He  was  knight  and  famed  knight,  and 
three  emirs'  ransoms  stood  between  him  and  the 
chill  of  poverty.  Two  esquires  served  him.  He  had 
horses,  —  better  could  not  be  bought  in  Syria !  He 

174 


THE  VENETIAN 

had  brought  off  in  safety  men-at-arms  in  his  pay. 
He  was  known  for  wearing  over  his  mail  a  surcoat  of 
deep  blue,  and  on  the  breast  embroidered  a  bird 
with  outstretched  wings.  He  was  all  bronzed  and 
rightly  lean  of  face  and  frame,  strongly-knit,  adven 
turous,  courteous,  could  be  gay  and  could  be  melan 
choly,  showed  not  his  entire  depth,  but  let  the  inner 
fountain,  darkly  pure,  still  send  up  jets  and  hues  of 
being.  He  and  Sir  Aimar  were  brothers-in-arms, 
were  Damon  and  Pythias.  He  was,  also,  true  poet. 
Many  a  song  had  he  made  since  that  first  song,  made 
where  he  lay  upon  a  boundary  stone,  by  the  stream 
that  flowed  past  Castel-Noir  and  on  to  Our  Lady  in 
Egypt.  And  always  he  sang  of  one  whom  he  named 
the  Fair  Goal.  That  name  was  known  in  Crusaders' 
cities,  in  tents  that  were  pitched  upon  desert  sands. 
He  himself  was  known  and  welcomed.  Comrade- 
Frank  or  Englishman  or  German  cried  with  pleasure, 
"Here  comes  the  singer!"  —  or  "the  lover!"  as 
might  be. 

In  the  castle  of  Panemonde  there  was  welcome 
and  feasting.  The  strong  kinsman  had  not  proved 
weak  in  fidelity,  but  had  held  afar  from  the  fief  eagle 
and  kite,  while  at  home  the  Lady  of  Panemonde,  a 
small,  fair,  determined  woman,  had  administered 
with  great  ability  castle,  village,  and  the  fields  that 
fed  both.  Here  were  Crusaders  who,  unlike  enough 
to  many,  had  not  come  home  impoverished,  or  to 
lands  ravaged  and  debt-ridden.  And  Sir  Eudes's 
old  sin  was  now  wiped  out  of  the  memory  of  God, 

175 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

and  he  could  sit  in  the  sun  and  wait  death  with  a 
peaceful  mind.  And  Sir  Aimar  was  so  beautiful  and 
strong  a  knight  that  his  suzerain,  the  Count  of  Tou 
louse,  would  be  sure  to  give  him  opportunity  by 
which  he  might  win  fame  for  Panemonde  beyond  that 
which  he  had  brought  from  across  the  sea.  Garin  de 
1'Isle  d'Or,  too,  looked  for  service  that  should  win 
him  land  and  castle. 

Toulouse !  No  sooner  had  their  ship  come  to  port 
than  they  learned  that  Aquitaine  warred  against 
Toulouse,  Duke  Richard  claiming  the  latter  through 
his  mother,  Duchess  Eleanor.  But  hardly  had  they 
taken  the  road  to  Panemonde  before  they  heard  the 
news  that  Richard  and  Count  Raymond  had  made 
in  some  sort  peace,  due,  perhaps,  to  hold,  and  per 
haps  due  not  to  hold.  Coming  to  Panemonde  they 
found  that  the  lady  there  had  furnished  Count  Ray 
mond  the  spears  that  the  fief  owed,  and  that,  the 
fighting  over,  some  of  these  had  returned.  Some 
would  never  return. 

They  feasted  and  rejoiced  at  Panemonde,  giving 
and  hearing  news.  Kindred  and  friends  came  about 
the  restored  from  over  the  sea.  There  were  feasts 
in  the  hall,  exercises  in  the  tilting  yard,  hunting  and 
singing.  They  carried  in  procession  to  the  mon 
astery  church  a  vial  of  water  from  the  Jordan,  a 
hands-breadth  of  silk  from  the  bliaut  of  Joseph 
of  Arimathea.  They  gave  holiday  to  the  serfs 
and  remitted  a  tax.  The  early  summer  days  went 
highly  and  well. 

176 


THE  VENETIAN 

Sir  Aimar  had  a  sister,  Aigletta,  a  fair,  rose- 
cheeked,  dark-eyed  lady.  She  was  fain  to  hear 
stories  of  Saladin  from  her  brother,  and  she  liked  to 
listen  to  the  lute  and  the  deep,  rich  and  sweet  voice 
of  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  He  sang  when  she 
asked  it,  seated  in  hall  or  in  garden,  or  perhaps  rest 
ing  by  the  little  stream  without  the  castle  wall, 
where  you  looked  across  the  bridge  of  one  arch  to 
the  eastward-stretching  highway.  Oftenest  Garin 
sang  other  men's  songs,  but  when  she  asked  it,  he 
sang  his  own.  Aigletta  listened  with  a  pensive  look. 
Her  brother  found  her  alone  one  day  in  the  garden,  a 
white  rose  by  her  knee,  her  smooth  cheek  resting 
upon  her  hand.  He  sat  beside  her. 

"Sister,  ladies  more  than  two  or  three  have 
wished  that  Sir  Garin  would  sing  not  so  much  for 
them  as  of  them!  And  still  he  sings  only  of  the 
Fair  Goal." 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  Aigletta. 

"Who  knows?  He  knows  not  himself .  But  she  is 
as  a  hedge  of  white  roses  to  keep  him  from  other 
loves.  So  I  would  not  have  you,  sister,  scorch  the 
finger-tip  of  your  heart!" 

11 1  ?  Not  I ! "  said  Aigletta.  "  I  dip  my  finger-tips 
in  cool,  running  water!  —  But,  truly,  to  sing  for 
years  of  a  lady  whom  he  knows  not  by  sight  —  !" 

"A  poet  can  do  even  that,"  said  Aimar.  "And  it 
is  not  true  that  he  hath  never  seen  her.  He  saw  her 
once,  where  she  rested  at  an  abbey,  though  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  saw  her  face.  But  now  for  years  he 

177 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

hath  made  her  famous  —  loving  her,  or  loving  the 
love  of  her." 

"By  my  faith!"  said  Aigletta.  "Truly  a  poet 
finds  roses  where  others  feel  snow!  —  Well,  I  am 
no  thief  to  take  away  a  lady's  knight!  And, 
perhaps,  as  you  say,  fair  brother,  I  could  not  do 
it." 

"  I  think  that  you  could  not,  fair  sister.  His  Fair 
Goal  has  become  to  him  as  air  and  light,  streaming 
through  the  house  of  being." 

They  had  not  been  long  at  Panemonde  when  they 
had  news  that  eastward  of  Toulouse  the  Count  of 
Montmaure  made  bitter  war  against  Roche-de- 
Frene,  and  that  Aquitaine  greatly  helped  Mont 
maure,  while  King  Philip,  distracted  by  quarrels 
nearer  home,  sent  to  the  aid  of  Roche-de-Frene  but 
a  single  company  of  spears.  Now,  traditionally, 
Toulouse  was  friendly  to  Roche-de-Frene,  but  Tou 
louse  was  weary  of  war,  and  had  made  pact  with 
Duke  Richard.  Moreover  Toulouse  had  present 
trouble  with  a  spreading  heresy  and  Holy  Church's 
disfavour.  Panemonde  heard  that  Montmaure  made 
very  grim  war. 

For  Sir  Garin  and  Sir  Aimar  the  future  pushed  its 
head  above  the  present's  rich  repose.  When  war 
swung  his  iron  bell  knights  must  hearken  —  not  the 
old  knight,  ready  now  for  rest  from  war,  for  com- 
templation  of  a  Heaven  where  that  bell  lay  broken 
—  but  the  young  men,  the  inheritors  of  wrath. 
Aimar  wished  to  ride  to  Toulouse,  to  Count  Ray- 


THE  VENETIAN 

mond.  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island  would  not  show 
restlessness  in  the  house  of  his  benefactor,  but  those 
who  were  awake  saw  him  pacing  at  dawn  the  castle 
wall,  or  leaning  against  the  battlement,  watching 
the  rose  in  the  east. 

Once  he  had  assured  Sir  Eudes  and  his  son  that  he 
was  of  Limousin.  But  ere  he  received  knighthood  he 
had  told  plainly  his  birthplace  and  home,  name,  and 
fealty,  and  that  anger  of  Montmaure  against  him. 
In  the  land  beyond  the  sea  much  of  the  past  had 
drifted  toward  remoteness,  many  degrees  of  experi 
ence  coming  between  it  and  him.  But  now,  early 
and  late,  he  began  to  think  of  Castel-Noir  and  of 
Foulque' — Foulque  who  had  heard  naught  of  him 
since  that  night  in  which  they  had  parted,  beneath 
the  old  cypress.  The  cypress  itself  rose  before  him, 
and  the  thought  of  Sicart  and  Jean.  Paladin  might 
be  living.  Tower  and  crag  and  wood,  the  stream  that 
slipped  through  the  wood  —  he  wished  to  see  them. 
Not  only  Castel-Noir  —  even  Raimbaut's  half- 
ruinous  hold  —  even  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered 
himself.  Garin  half  laughed  at  the  thought  of  the 
giant.  And  he  wished  to  follow  down  that  stream 
again  —  to  see  again  the  boundary  stone  of  Our 
Lady  of  Egypt  —  to  find  again  that  little  lawn  with 
the  cedar,  plane,  and  poplar  —  to  touch  again  that 
carved  seat,  so  near  the  laurels.  .  .  . 

He  rose  from  his  bed  and,  while  the  morning  star 
was  still  shining,  went  down  the  stair  and  crossing 
the  court  mounted  the  castle  wall.  Here  he  rested 

179 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

arms  against  the  stone  and  gazed  at  the  east  where 
was  now  a  little  colour. 

Montmaure  warred  against  Roche-de-Frene. 
Raimbaut  held  from  Montmaure,  but  Montmaure, 
for  that  fief,  was  vassal  to  Roche-de-Frene.  They  said 
that  the  war  was  bitter  and  far-flung.  Garin  knew 
not  if  Raimbaut,  carrying  with  him  Castel-Noir, 
clave  to  Montmaure,  or  to  the  over-lord  that  was 
Roche-de-Frene.  There  sprang  within  him  wish  and 
belief  that  it  was  to  Roche-de-Frene.  Montmaure! 
His  lips  moved,  his  brow  darkened.  In  imagina 
tion  he  wrestled  again  with  Jaufre  de  Montmaure. 
Then,  athwart  that  mood,  came  again,  and  stronger 
than  before,  a  great  longing  to  follow  once  more 
that  southward-slipping  stream,  and  to  hear  the 
nightingale  in  the  covert,  and  to  come  again  through 
the  laurels  to  the  lawn,  the  cedar,  and  the  chair  of 
stone.  The  east  was  like  a  rose.  "I  will  tarry  no 
longer!"  said  Garin. 

Five  days  later  he  and  Aimar  rode  away  toward 
Toulouse.  Behind  them,  well  mounted,  rode  their 
esquires,  bearing  lance  and  shield;  behind  these, 
threescore  mounted  men.  The  two  knights  kneeled 
for  Sir  Eudes's  blessing,  they  kissed  the  cheek  of 
the  Lady  of  Panemonde  and  of  the  dark-eyed  Ai- 
gletta ;  they  went  away  like  a  piece  of  the  summer, 
and  all  the  castle  out  to  see  them  go.  Here  was  the 
bridge,  here  the  road,  here  a  lime  tree  that  Garin 
remembered,  but  in  an  autumn  dress.  Now  it  was 
green  and  palest  gold,  fragrant,  murmurous  with 

180 


THE  VENETIAN 

bees.  Farther,  and  here  was  the  calvary,  and  the 
way  that  branched  to  church  and  monastery.  Wher 
ever  there  were  people,  they  stopped  in  their  tracks 
upon  the  road,  or  in  the  fields  dropped  their  work 
and  stood  to  see  the  knights  go  by,  with  the  goodly 
men  behind  them.  The  sky  was  dazzling  blue,  the 
world  drenched  with  light  and  heat. 

They  meant  to  lodge  that  night  in  the  town  to 
which  Garin  had  come  with  the  scholar,  and  where 
first  he  had  seen  the  cross  taken.  Reaching  it  before 
sunset,  they  looked  up  at  its  castle.  But  said  Garin, 
"Let  us  find  some  hostel!  It  is  not  in  my  mind  to 
night  to  be  questioned  of  the  Holy  Land,  made  to 
talk  and  sing." 

Aimar  agreed;  could  tell,  too,  that  anciently  there 
was  here  a  famous  inn.  Passing  through  the  town 
gate,  they  came  into  streets  where  the  folk  abroad 
and  at  door  and  window  turned  at  the  sound  of 
the  clattering  hoofs,  gazed  at  the  well-appointed 
troop,  and  made  free  comment.  All  the  place  was 
bathed  in  a  red  light. 

"There  are  many  heretics  in  this  town,"  said 
Aimar.  "  Catharists  or  bans  hommes  —  men  of  Albi, 
as  they  are  now  called.  The  strange  thing  is  that 
they  seem  very  gentle,  good  people !  I  remember  one 
who  came  to  Panemonde  the  year  before  we  took 
the  cross.  He  sat  beneath  the  great  oak  and  talked 
to  any  who  would  listen  as  sweetly  as  if  Our  Lady 
had  sent  him  down  from  Heaven !  I  wondered  — 
Some  of  the  people  took  up  stones  to  stone  him,  but 

181 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

I  would  not  let  him  be  hurt,  and  he  went  away.  I 
wondered  — " 

Garin's  squire,  Rainier,  had  been  sent  ahead  to 
the  inn,  and  now  rode  back  to  meet  them.  "Sirs,  a 
Venetian  merchant-lord  and  his  people  possess  the 
house !  But  I  have  caught  one  fair  chamber  from  the 
Italian's  clutch  and  the  hostess  promises  good  sup 
per  and  soon.  For  the  men,  the  next  street  hath  the 
Olive  Tree  and  the  Sheaf  and  Sickle." 

They  came  to  the  great  inn,  a  low,  capacious  build 
ing  with  a  courtyard,  and  in  a  corner  of  this  a  spa 
cious  arbour  overrun  by  a  grape-vine.  It  was  sunset. 
The  knights  and  their  squires  dismounted,  and  a 
sumpter  mule  with  its  load  was  brought  from  the 
rear.  Men  came  from  the  inn  stable  and  took  away 
the  horses.  Orders  as  to  the  morning  start  having 
been  given,  the  troop  from  Panemonde  trotted  off, 
down  an  unpaved  lane,  to  the  lesser  hostels.  The 
hostess  appeared,  a  woman  of  great  size  with  a  face 
as  genial  as  the  sun.  She  poured  forth  words  as  to 
preempted  quarters,  regrets,  admirations,  welcomes, 
hints  that  they  were  as  well  off  here  as  at  the  castle 
where  the  lord  was  healing  him  of  a  grisly  wound, 
and  the  lady  had  yesterday  been  brought  to  bed  of  a 
woman-child.  Then  she  herself  marshalled  the 
knights,  the  squire  Rainier  following,  to  a  chamber 
reasonably  large  and  clean.  Maids  brought  basins 
and  ewers  of  water.  Rainier  busied  himself  with 
squire's  duties.  He,  too,  looked  to  knighthood, 
somewhere  in  the  future.  The  bright  evening  light 

182 


THE  VENETIAN 

came  through  the  window.  Below,  under  the  grape- 
arbour,  serving-men  placed  boards  on  trestles,  and 
furnished  forth  a  table. 

The  inn  followed  a  good  fashion,  and  on  these 
warm  and  long  days  spread  supper  in  the  largest, 
most  open  hall  that  might  be.  When  they  descended 
to  the  court  it  was  to  find  the  Venetian  great  mer 
chant  already  at  table,  sitting  with  two  others  above 
the  salt.  He  was  a  lordly  person,  dressed  in  prune- 
coloured  cendal,  breathing  potencies  of  travel  and 
trade.  In  his  air  were  Venice  and  her  doges,  the 
equal  sea  and  the  flavour  of  gold. 

He  greeted  the  two  knights  courteously,  and  they 
returned  his  greeting.  They  took  their  places,  the 
squire  below  them.  Supper  went  well,  with  the  hum 
of  life  around  the  arbour,  and  the  sky's  warm  tint 
showing  between  twisted  branches  of  the  vine. 
When  hunger  was  satisfied,  they  talked.  They  who 
spent  years  in  the  East  came  back  to  Europe  with 
certain  Saracenic  touches  of  conduct  and  manner  that 
to  such  as  the  Venetian  told  at  least  part  of  their 
history.  He  began  at  once  to  speak  of  cities  beyond 
the  sea  —  of  Jaffa,  Tripoli,  Edessa,  Aleppo,  Damas 
cus.  In  turn  Garin  and  Aimar  questioned  him  of 
Venice,  paved  with  the  sea. 

When  they  had  eaten,  they  washed  and  dried 
their  hands.  Serving-men  took  away  the  dishes, 
the  boards  and  trestles.  The  arbour  was  left,  a  cool 
and  pleasant  place,  with  a  table  whereon  was  set  wine 
of  the  country,  with  the  summer  stars  brightening 

183 


THE   FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

overhead,  and  a  vagrant  wind  lifting  the  vine  leaves. 
They  tarried  under  the  arbour,  drinking  the  red 
wine  and  talking  now  of  matters  nearer  at  hand  than 
was  Venice  or  Damascus.  Around  was  the  hum  of 
the  town,  of  the  long,  warm  evening  settling  into 
night.  Out  from  the  inn  door  came  voices  of  the  inn 
people.  The  hostess  was  rating  some  idle  man  or 
maid.  "  May  Aquitaine  take  you — !" 

The  Venetian,  it  seemed,  was  on  his  way  to  Bar 
celona,  had  travelled  yesterday  from  the  city  of 
Toulouse.  He  had  left  Venice  the  past  winter,  and 
in  the  interest  of  that  sea-queen  and  her  trade  had 
been  in  many  towns  and  a  guest  of  many  courts.  Of 
late,  war,  blazing  forth,  had  disarranged  his  plans, 
preoccupied  his  hosts.  He  was  in  a  most  ill  humour 
with  this  warring. 

"Fair  sirs,  I  look  not  that  you  should  believe  me, 
but  one  day  it  will  be  found  that  war  is  the  name  of 
the  general  foe!  For  what,  say  I,  is  the  mind  given 
to  you?"  He  drank  his  wine.  "Now  the  Count  of 
Montmaure  wars  against  the  Prince  of  Roche-de- 
Frene !  In  Montmaure  trade  is  broken  on  the  wheel. 
In  Roche-de-Frene  she  is  burned  at  the  stake."  He 
tapped  the  wine-cup  with  his  fingers.  "Trade  is  the 
true  ship  —  War  is  the  pirate!" 

Garin  spoke.  "  I  have  hours  in  which  I  should  be 
lieve  that  you  were  right.  Love,  too,  and  the  finer 
thought  are  broken  on  the  wheel !  But  it  is  the  way 
of  the  world,  and  we  are  knights  who  go  to  war." 

"My  lord  of  Montmaure  fights,"  said  themer- 

184 


THE  VENETIAN 

chant,  "  like  a  fiend!  Or  so  the  Count  of  Toulouse 
told  me.  The  country  of  Roche-de-Frene  is  harried 
and  wasted.  Now  he  goes  about  to  besiege  the  town 
and  the  castle." 

"  We  have  been  home  no  great  while,"  said  Aimar, 
"and  our  castle  is  in  a  corner  of  the  land  and  away 
from  hearing  how  the  wind  blows  elsewhere." 

The  Venetian  sipped  his  wine,  then  set  down  the 
cup.  "I  spent  a  week,  before  this  war  broke  forth, 
in  the  castle  of  Roche-de-Frene.  I  found  the  prince 
a  wise  man,  with  for  wife  the  most  beauteous  lady 
my  eyes  have  gazed  upon!" 

1 '  Aye ! ' '  said  Garin.  * '  Alazais  the  Fair,  men  called 
her." 

"Just.  Alazais  the  Fair.  —  While  I  was  in  the 
castle  came  the  Count  of  Montmaure's  demand  for 
the  prince's  daughter  for  wife  to  his  son.  Certes,  I 
think,"  said  the  merchant,  "that  he  knew  she  would 
be  refused  him !  Cause  of  war,  or  mask-reason  for  a 
meant  war  —  now  they  war." 

"We  heard  something  of  all  this,"  said  Aimar. 

Garin  spoke  again.  He  was  back  in  mind  at 
Castel-Noir.  "That  is  the  Princess  Audiart.  I  re 
member  their  saying  that  she  was  ugly  and  unlike 
others —  like  a  changeling.  They  were  praying  for 
a  son  to  Prince  Gaucelm." 

"She  is  not  a  changeling,"  answered  the  Vene 
tian.  "She  is  a  very  wise  lady,  though  she  is  not 
fair  as  is  her  step-dame.  I  saw  her  sit  beside  the 
Prince  in  council  and  the  people  love  her.  Now, 

185 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

they  say,  she  is  as  brave  as  a  lion.  Pardieu!  If  I 
were  knight,  or  knight-errant — " 

"Are  they  hard  pressed?"  Garin  spoke,  his  hands 
before  him  on  the  table. 

"So  't  is  said.  Montmaure  has  gathered  a  host 
and  Richard  of  Aquitaine  gives  to  Count  Jaufre 
another  as  great.  At  Toulouse  there  was  much  talk 
of  the  matter." 

The  Venetian  emptied  his  glass,  looked  up  at  the 
stars,  and,  the  day's  travel  having  been  wearying, 
thought  of  his  bed.  Presently  he  rose,  his  people 
with  him,  said  a  courteous  good  night  and  quitted 
the  arbour. 

The  two  knights  waited  a  little  longer,  sitting  in 
silence.  Then  they,  too,  left  the  arbour,  and,  Rainier 
attending,  went  to  the  chamber  that  had  been  given. 
Here  sleep  came  soon.  But  in  the  first  light  of  morn 
ing  Sir  Aimar,  waking,  saw  Garin  standing,  half- 
clothed,  at  the  window. 

"Aimar,"  said  Garin,  "you  must  to  Toulouse, 
for  Count  Raymond  is  your  suzerain  and  Sir  Eudes 
hath  your  promise  that  you  follow  no  adventure 
until  you  have  received  lord's  leave.  But  for  me 
that  makes  too  long  delay.  I  will  ride  on  to  Roche- 
de-Fr£ne." 

Sir  Aimar  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  bed.  "I 
thought  last  eve  that  I  saw  the  knight-errant  look 
forth  from  your  eye !  Will  you  rescue  this  ugly  prin 
cess?" 

"Ugly  or  fair,  she  is  a  lady  in  distress  —  and 
186 


THE  VENETIAN 

Jaufre  de  Montmaure  does  her  wrong Her  father 

is  my  liege  lord.  I  have  had  a  vision  too,  of  my 
brother  Foulque,  hard  bestead.  I  cannot  tarry  to 
go  about  by  Toulouse." 

Aimar  agreed  to  that.  "  My  father  hath  my  prom 
ise.  —  But  I  will  follow  you  as  soon  as  I  may.  Par- 
dieu!  If  what  the  Venetian  said  be  true,  every 
knight  will  be  welcome!" 

''I  think  that  it  was  true.  —  Ha!"  said  Garin  to 
himself,  "I  see  again  the  autumn  wood,  and  Jaufre 
de  Montmaure  who  beats  to  her  knees  that  herd- 
girl!" 

The  two  knights,  Garin  and  Aimar,  left  the  town 
together,  in  the  brightness  of  the  morning.  But  a 
mile  or  two  beyond  the  walls  their  ways  parted. 
Their  followers  were  divided  between  them  —  each 
had  now  two  esquires  and  more  than  a  score  of  men- 
at-arms.  Each  small  troop  came  in  line  behind  its 
leader.  Then  the  two  knights,  dismounting,  em 
braced.  Each  commended  the  other  to  the  care  of 
the  Mother  of  God.  They  made  a  rendezvous; 
they  would  meet  again,  brothers-in-arms,  as  soon  as 
might  be.  They  remounted  —  each  troop  cried  fare 
well  to  the  other  —  Sir  Aimar  and  those  with  him 
turned  aside  into  the  way  to  Toulouse. 

Sir  Garin  waited  without  movement  until  a  great 
screen  of  poplars  came  between  him  and  his  brother 
knight.  Then  he  spoke  to  his  courser,  and  with  his 
men  behind  him,  began  to  pursue  the  road  to  the 
country  of  his  birth.  As  he  travelled  he  saw  in  fancy, 

187 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

coming  toward  him  on  this  road,  Garin  de  Castel- 
Noir  clad  in  a  serf's  dress,  fleeing  from  Montmaure, 
in  his  heart  and  brain  hopes  and  fears,  a  welling-up 
of  poesy,  and  the  image  of  his  lady  whom  he  named 
the  Fair  Goal.  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,  older  by 
nigh  eight  years  of  time  and  a  world  of  experience, 
rich,  massy,  and  intricate,  smiled  on  that  other 
Garin  and  saw  how  far  he  had  to  travel  —  but  with 
out  finding  as  yet  the  Fair  Goal ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OUR  LADY  IN   EGYPT 

THE  air  quivered  above  all  surfaces;  light  and  heat 
spoke  with  intensity.  But  those  who  had  been 
long  years  in  Syria  were  used  to  a  greater  intensity. 
They  travelled  now,  not  minding  heat  and  glare. 
They  rode  through  a  little  village  that  Garin  re 
membered,  and  at  the  farther  end  passed  a  house 
with  mulberry  trees.  Children  played  in  their  shade. 
"Ha!"  said  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  "Time's 
wheel  goes  round,  and  the  fountain  casts  new 
spray!" 

Rainier  the  squire  knew  this  country-side.  A  cer 
tain  castle  was  placed  conveniently  for  dinner-time, 
and  to  this  they  drew  from  the  high  road.  Where 
you  did  not  war,  there  obtained,  in  the  world  of  chiv 
alry,  a  boundless  hospitality.  The  lord  who  held 
this  castle  made  all  welcome.  A  great  bell  rang ;  here 
was  dinner  in  the  hall. 

From  the  castle  tower  one  saw  afar,  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  Toulouse.  The  baron  could  give  in 
formation.  Duke  Richard  had  spared  Jaufre  de 
Montmaure  two  thousand  spears  and  ten  thousand 
men-at-arms,  archers,  and  crossbowmen.  Mont 
maure,  himself,  had  a  great  force.  Roche-de-Fr£ne 
fought  strongly,  but  the  land  suffered.  Stories  were 

189 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

told  of  the  ways  of  Montmaure.  Garin  made  en 
quiry  as  to  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Pamphilius,  not  far 
to  the  northward.  " Saint  Pamphilius?  Safe  as 
though  it  held  by  God  the  Father's  beard!  Years 
ago  it  chose  Montmaure  for  advocate.  Aye!  Abbot 
Arnaut  lives."  But  the  lord  of  the  castle  could  not 
tell  of  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered,  if  he  held  with 
Montmaure,  or,  passing  him,  clave  to  Roche-de- 
Frene. 

The  castle  would  have  had  them  bide  the  night, 
and  the  Crusader  discourse  of  the  Holy  Land.  But 
Garin  must  on.  His  imagination  was  seized;  what 
lay  before  him  drew  him  imperiously,  like  a  load 
stone.  He  bade  the  lord  and  lady  of  the  castle  fare 
well,  mounted  his  horse,  Noureddin,  and  with  his 
men  behind  him  took  the  road.  The  earth  lay 
drowned  in  light,  the  air  seemed  hardly  a  strip  of 
gauze  between  it  and  the  sun.  They  must  ride  some 
what  slowly  through  the  afternoon.  At  last  the  heat 
and  dazzle  of  the  day  declined.  Straight  before  them 
lay  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Pamphilius,  and  that  were 
good  harbourage  for  the  night,  but  not  for  any  who 
meant  to  enter  battle  upon  the  side  of  Roche-de- 
Frene!  The  night  would  be  dry,  warm  and  bright. 
The  men  had  food  with  them,  in  leathern  pouches. 
Forest  lay  to  the  right  of  the  road. 

Garin  spoke  to  his  squires:  "It  is  to  my  fancy  to 
sleep  in  this  wood  to-night.  Once  I  did  sleep  here, 
but  without  esquires  and  men-at-arms  and  war- 
horse." 

190 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

It  chanced  that  the  moon  was  almost  full.  Garin 
watched  it  mount  between  the  branches  of  the  trees, 
and  the  past  rose  with  it  to  suffuse  the  present.  He 
could  recall  the  moods  of  that  night,  but  they  seemed 
to  him  now  frail  and  boyish.  .  .  .  Dawn  broke;  his 
men  rose  from  where  they  lay  like  brown  acorns. 
Nearby,  the  stream  that  ran  through  the  wood 
widened  into  a  pool.  Knight,  squires,  and  men-at- 
arms  laid  aside  clothing,  plunged  into  the  cool  ele 
ment,  had  joy  of  it.  Afterwards,  they  breakfasted 
sparely.  When  the  sun  lighted  the  hill-tops  they 
were  again  upon  the  road. 

The  road  now  trended  eastward.  They  came  to  a 
chapel  that  was  a  ruin.  Beside  it,  scooped  from  the 
hillside  and  shaded  by  an  oak,  appeared  a  hermit's 
cell.  At  first  they  thought  that  it  was  empty,  but  at 
length  a  grey  figure,  lean  and  trembling  as  a  reed, 
peeped  forth. 

"Who  broke  down  the  chapel,  father?"  asked 
Garin. 

The  hermit  stared  at  him.  "Fair  son  and  sir 
knight,  are  you  from  the  Toulouse  side?" 

"We  have  ridden  two  days  from  the  westward. 
This  is  the  boundary?" 

The  hermit  looked  with  lack-lustre  eyes,  then 
wagged  his  head  up  and  down.  "Aye,  fair  knight 
and  son !  The  lords  of  Toulouse  and  Roche-de-Frene 
built  the  chapel,  each  bearing  half  the  cost.  But  a 
band  belonging  to  the  Lord  of  Montmaure  came 
this  way.  Its  captain  said  that  he  pulled  down  only 

191 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Roche-de-Frene's  half  —  but  all  fell!  The  Holy 
Father  at  Rome  ought  to  hear  of  it!" 

"Are  Montmaure's  men  still  at  hand?" 

The  hermit  shook  his  head.  "They  harrowed  the 
country  and  went.  I  saw  flames  all  one  night  and 
heard  the  cries  of  the  damned!" 

Garin  and  those  behind  him  rode  on.  Immediately 
the  way  that  once  had  been  good  became  bad.  A 
bridge  had  spanned  a  swift  stream,  but  the  bridge 
was  destroyed.  A  mill  had  stood  near,  but  the  mill 
was  burned.  There  seemed  no  folk.  They  rode  by 
trampled  and  blackened  fields  where  no  harvest 
sickles  would  come  this  year.  The  poppies  looked 
like  blood.  Here,  in  a  dip  in  the  land,  was  what  had 
been  a  village,  and  upon  a  low  hill  a  heap  of  stones 
that  had  been  castle  or  armed  manor-house.  There 
were  yet  fearful  odours.  They  rode  by  a  tree  on 
which  were  hanged  ten  men,  and  a  place  where 
women  and  children,  all  crouched  together,  had 
been  slain.  Here  were  more  blackened  fields, 
splashed  with  poppies.  The  sun,  now  riding  high, 
sent  into  every  corner  a  searching  light. 

Garin  and  his  men,  leaving  the  ruin,  rode  through 
a  great  forest.  They  rode  cautiously,  keeping  a  look 
out,  neither  singing  nor  laughing  nor  talking  loudly. 
But  the  forest  slept  on  either  hand,  and  there  was 
nothing  heard  but  the  hoofs  of  their  horses,  the  song 
of  birds,  and  the  whirr  of  insects. 

This  forest  had  been  known  to  Garin  the  squire. 
He  was  going  now  toward  Raimbaut's  keep.  Around 

192 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

were  the  wide-branching  trees,  the  birds  flew  before 
them,  the  startled  hare  ran,  the  deer  plunged  aside 
into  the  deeper  brakes,  but  they  met  with  no  human 
life.  Travelling  so,  they  came  to  a  broken  country, 
wooded  hills,  grey  falls  of  cliff,  streams  that  brawled 
over  stony  beds.  Garin  looked  from  side  to  side, 
recognizing  ancient  landmarks.  But  when  they  rode 
out  from  the  dwindling  wood  upon  fields  that  should 
have  shone  and  shimmered,  yellowing  to  the  harvest 
—  these  fields,  too,  were  black  with  ruin.  Here  was 
a  meadow  that  Garin  knew.  But  no  cattle  stood 
within  it,  seeking  the  shade  of  the  trees,  and  no 
where,  field  or  meadow  or  narrow  road,  were  there 
people.  All  lay  silent,  without  motion,  under  the 
giant  strength  of  the  sun. 

The  road  passed  under  the  brow  of  a  hill,  turned, 
and  he  saw  where  had  been  the  grim  old  keep  and 
tower  and  wall  where  he  had  served  Raimbaut  the 
Six-fingered.  In  its  shadow  had  clustered  peasants' 
huts.  All  was  destroyed;  he  saw  not  a  living  man, 
not  a  beast,  not  a  dog.  "How  like,"  said  Garin  of 
the  Golden  Island,  "are  Paynimry  and  Christen 
dom!" 

He  checked  his  men,  and  alone  rode  to  the  ruins. 
Dismounting,  he  let  Noureddin  crop  the  parched 
grass  while  he  himself  entered  through  a  breach  in 
the  wall,  the  gateway  being  blocked  by  fallen  ma 
sonry.  All  was  desolate  under  the  sun.  The  well 
had  been  filled  with  stones.  Climbing  a  mass  of 
debris,  crushed  wall  and  fallen  beam  and  rafter, 

193 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

he  attained  the  interior  of  the  keep.  Here  had  been 
sword  and  fire ;  here  now  were  the  charred  bones, 
here  the  writing  that  said  how  had  fought  Raim- 
baut  the  Six- fingered! 

Garin  came  out  of  the  keep  and  crossed  the  court, 
and,  stepping  through  the  ragged  and  monstrous 
opening  in  the  wall,  called  to  his  men.  Three  hours 
they  worked,  making  a  grave  and  laying  within  it 
every  charred  body  they  found,  and  making  one 
grave  for  the  forms  of  a  giant  and  of  a  woman  who 
had  fallen  beside  him. 

"I  knew  this  castle,"  said  Sir  Garin.  " This  was 
its  lord,  and  he  could  fight  bravely!  Nor  did  he  fail 
at  times  of  kindness  done.  This  was  its  lady,  and 
she  was  like  him." 

At  last  they  rode  away  from  Raimbaut's  castle. 
First,  came  other  fields  that  this  storm  had  struck, 
then  a  curving  arm,  thick  and  dark,  of  forest.  But, 
on  the  further  edge  of  this  flowed  a  stream  where 
the  bridge  was  not  broken,  and  nearby  was  the 
hut  of  one  who  burned  charcoal,  and  the  man  and 
woman  and  their  children  were  within  and  living. 
They  fell  upon  their  knees  and  put  up  their  hands 
for  mercy. 

"We  are  not  Montmaure!"  said  Garin.  "Jean 
Charcoal-burner,  have  you  heard  if  they  have  done 
the  like  to  Castel-Noir?" 

The  charcoal-burner,  of  elf  locks  and  blackened 
skin,  stared  at  the  knight,  and  now  thought  that  he 
knew  him,  and  now  that  he  knew  him  not.  But 

194 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

he  had  comfort  to  give  as  to  Castel-Noir.  He  had 
been  there  within  three  days,  and  it  stood.  It  was  so 
small  a  tower  and  out  of  the  way  —  Montmaure's 
band  had  ignored  it,  or  were  gone  for  the  time  to  set 
claws  in  other  prey.  "Sir  Foulque?  —  aye,  Sir 
Foulque  lived." 

Garin  came  to  Castel-Noir  in  the  red  flush  of 
evening.  The  fir  wood  lay  quiet  and  dark,  haunted 
by  memory.  The  stream  was  as  ever  it  was.  Look 
ing  up,  he  saw  the  lonely,  small  castle,  the  round 
tower  —  saw,  too,  a  scurrying  to  it,  from  the  sur 
rounding  huts,  of  men,  women  and  children.  They 
went  like  partridges,  up  the  steep,  grey  road,  across 
the  narrow  moat,  and  in  at  the  gate.  The  draw 
bridge  mounted,  creaking  and  groaning. 

' l  Ah, ' '  said  Garin  with  a  sob  in  his  throat, ' '  Foulque 
thinks  that  we  are  foes!" 

He  left  his  men  among  the  firs,  and  rode  on 
Noureddin  up  the  path  known  so  well  —  so  well ! 
He  rode  without  spear  and  shield,  and  unhelmed. 
Watchers  from  loophole  or  battlement  might  see 
only  a  bronzed  horseman,  wearing  a  blue  surcoat, 
worked  upon  the  breast  with  a  bird  with  outstretched 
wings.  When  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  moat,  be 
neath  the  wall,  he  checked  Noureddin,  sat  motion 
less  for  a  minute,  then  raised  his  voice.  "Castel- 
Noir!" 

A  man  looked  over  the  wall.  "Who  and  whence, 
and,  Mother  of  God!  whose  voice  are  you  calling 
with?" 

195 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

"Sicart!"  called  Garin,  "  remember  eight  years, 
come  Martinmas,  and  the  serf's  dress  you  found  me! 
Put  the  bridge  down  and  let  me  in!" 

Foulque  met  him  in  the  gateway. 

"Brother  Foulque  —  " 

''Garin,  Garin  — " 

Fir  wood,  crag,  and  black  castle  travelled  from 
the  sun,  faced  the  unlighted  deeps.  But  an  inner 
sun  shone  and  warmed.  The  squires,  the  troop,  had 
welcome  and  welcome  again.  Nothing  there  was 
that  Sicart  and  Jean  and  Pol  and  Arnaut  and  all  the 
others  would  not  do  for  them !  Comforts  and  treas 
ures  were  scant,  but  the  whole  was  theirs.  The  saints 
seemed  benignant,  so  smoothly  and  fragrantly  did 
matters  go!  Pierre  found  savoury  food  for  all.  And 
there  was  forage  for  the  horses.  And  the  courtyard 
on  a  summer  night,  with  straw  spread  down,  was 
good  sleeping.  But  before  there  was  sleeping,  came 
tale- telling  —  a  great  ring  gathered,  with  the  round 
moon  looking  down,  and  Castel-Noir  men  and  boys 
and  women  and  girls  from  the  huts  below,  listening 
—  listening  —  gaping  and  exultant !  Sir  Garin  of 
the  Golden  Island  —  and  how  he  had  taken  the 
cross  —  and  what  he  had  done  in  the  land  over  the 
sea,  and  the  tale-tellers  with  him ! 

Fairyland  had  somehow  come  to  Castel-Noir  — 
a  warm  Paradise  of  pride  in  the  native-born,  relish 
for  brave  deeds,  forward  felt  glow  from  perhaps 
vastly  better  days!  Through  all  ran  a  filtering  of 
Eastern  wonder.  There  was,  too,  simple  veneration 

196 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

for  the  slayers  of  paynims,  for  beings  who  had 
travelled  in  the  especial  country  of  God !  The  pride 
in  Garin  was  strong.  They  had  thought  him  dead, 
though  some  had  insisted  that,  maybe,  one  day  he 
would  come  back,  a  knight.  These  now  basked  in 
their  own  wisdom.  But  even  they  had  not  dreamed 
the  whole  fairy  tale  out!  Sir  Garin  of  the  Golden 
Island  —  and  how  he  got  that  name  —  and  how  he 
fought  and  how  he  sang  and  how  lords  and  kings 
were  fain  of  his  company  —  and  his  brother-in-arms, 
Sir  Aimar  —  and  the  three  emirs'  ransoms !  The 
people  of  Castel-Noir  forgot  Montmaure  and  danger, 
and  were  blissful  that  night  beneath  the  round  and 
golden  moon. 

Garin  and  Foulque  bided  within  the  hall,  talked 
there,  Garin  pacing  up  and  down  while  Foulque  the 
Cripple  gloated  on  him  from  his  chair.  They  had 
torchlight,  but  the  moonlight,  too,  streamed  in. 
Garin  charted  for  his  brother  the  unknown  sea  of 
the  years  he  had  been  away.  Foulque  followed  him 
to  Panemonde,  to  the  port,  to  Syria  —  and  then  all 
the  events  and  fortune  there! 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Foulque.  "Ha  ha!  ha  ha!  Who 
knows  anything  in  this  world?  Oh,  dire  misfortune 
that  it  seemed  to  have  fought  with  Jaufre  de  Mont 
maure  !  And  here  he  has  given  you  knighthood  and 
fame  and  ransom- wealth !  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Let  me  laugh ! 
Yesterday  I  was  weeping." 

"If  you  push  things  in  that  direction,"  said  Garin, 
"before  it  was  Jaufre  it  was  that  herd-girl  with  the 

197 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

torn  dress  and  streaming  hair!  There  is  a  path  from 
all  things  to  all  things  else." 

He  stopped  before  a  window  embrasure  and  looked 
out  upon  the  moon-flooded  court  and  the  ring  of  his 
men  and  the  Castel-Noir  men.  When  he  turned 
back  to  Foulque  they  took  up  the  years  as  they  had 
gone  for  the  black  castle.  They  had  gone  without 
great  events  until  had  befallen  this  war.  That 
being  the  case,  the  two  were  presently  at  the  huge 
happenings  in  the  princedom  of  Roche-de-Frene. 
Foulque  knew  of  the  fate  of  Raimbaut  the  Six-fin 
gered.  Jean  the  Charcoal-burner  had  brought  the 
news.  Since  that,  Castel-Noir  had  stood  somewhat 
shiveringly  upon  its  rock,  the  probabilities  being 
that  its  own  hour  was  near. 

And  yet  Foulque,  and  Garin  with  him,  agreed 
that  since  the  band  that  had  entered  this  fief  and 
beat  down  Raimbaut  and  his  castle  was  now  gone 
without  finding  Castel-Noir,  it  might  not  think  to 
return  upon  its  tracks,  leaving  richer  prey  for  spar 
row  or  hare.  Foulque  considered  that  the  ravagers 
had  been  Free  Companions,  mercenaries  bought  by 
Montmaure  from  far  away,  not  knowing  nook  and 
corner  of  the  country  they  devastated.  Montmaure, 
angered,  had  made  his  threat  when  Raimbaut,  re 
nouncing  the  immediate  allegiance,  held  for  Roche- 
de-Fr£ne.  He  had  kept  it,  sending  fire  and  death. 
But  Castel-Noir  might  stay  hidden  in  its  fir  wood. 
Foulque,  a  born  sceptic,  here  showed  one  contrary 
streak.  He  was  credulous  now  of  all  evil  from  Jaufre 

198 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

de  Montmaure  being  turned  aside  from  aught  that 
pertained  to  Garin.  "Certes,  not  after  procuring 
you  knighthood  and  gold!" 

Garin  learned  of  the  war  at  large.  In  the  spring 
Prince  Gaucelm  had  gathered  a  great  host.  Under 
Stephen  the  Marshal  it  had  met  and  beaten  as  great 
a  number,  Count  Savaric  at  the  head.  Savaric  had 
been  wounded,  thrust  back,  him  and  his  host,  into 
his  own  land.  Then  had  come  with  a  greater  host 
Jaufre  de  Montmaure,  like  an  evil  wind.  His  father, 
too,  recovering,  rushed  again  from  Montmaure. 
Prince  Gaucelm  and  all  his  knights  and  a  host  of 
men  withstood  them.  Everywhere  there  was  ring 
ing  of  shields  and  flying  of  arrows.  Where  Mont 
maure  came,  came  blight.  A  walled  town  had  been 
taken  and  sacked;  another,  they  said,  was  endan 
gered.  Rumour  ran  that  Roche-de-Fr£ne  itself  must 
stand  a  siege.  Montmaure  was  gathering  a  huge 
number  of  spears  and  countless  footmen,  and  had  an 
Italian  who  was  making  for  him  great  engines.  But 
naught  this  side  waking  to  find  to-night  a  dream 
could  now  weaken  Foulque's  optimism!  "  Roche-de- 
Frene  's  no  ripe  plum  to  be  picked  and  eaten!  Pick 
thunderbolts  from  an  oak  that  will  outlive  Mont 
maure!" 

Foulque  was  reconciled,  when  the  talk  came  that 
way,  to  Garin's  early  departure  from  Castel-Noir. 
Neither  dreamed  but  that  he,  knight  and  able  to 
help,  must  of  course  go.  It  was  his  devoir.  But  he 
might  bide  a  few  days.  It  would  presently  be  seen 

199 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

if  the  place  were  indeed  moderately  safe,  left  a  small, 
overlooked  backwater.  Foulque's  thin  face  worked 
with  laughter.  "Ha,  Jaufre!  —  and  what  was  it 
that  he  said  touching  flaying  alive  and  razing  your 
house?  Jaufre  makes  me  sport!"  His  thought 
drove  aside  from  the  pleasant  spice  of  Jaufre's  men 
preserving  just  Castel-Noir.  "And  now  he  would 
wed  the  princess!" 

Garin,  in  his  pacing,  crossed  a  shaft  of  moon 
light.  "What  manner  of  lady  is  the  Princess  Au- 
diart?" 

"Not  fair,  but  wise,  they  say.  I  know  not,"  said 
Foulque,  "if  women  can  be  wise." 

"Ah,  yes,  they  may!" 

"I  agree,"  said  Foulque,  "that  there  is  wisdom 
somewhere  in  not  helping  into  the  world  sons  of 
Jaufre,  grandsons  of  Savaric! —  It  is  said  that  the 
townspeople  love  the  princess." 

Garin  crossed  again  the  shaft  of  light.  "  No  harm 
has  come  to  Our  Lady  in  Egypt?" 

"No  harm  that  I  have  heard  of.  Count  Savaric 
is  known  for  a  good  son  of  the  Church !  He  will  not 
harm  the  bishop's  lands  either.  I  hear  report  —  I 
have  heard  that  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Pamphilius 
saith  —  that  if  Montmaure  conquers,  Bishop  Ugo 
will  not  be  less  but  greater  in  Roche-de-Fr£ne.  — 
But  what,"  said  Foulque,  "do  I  know  in  truth  to  tell 
you?  A  cripple,  chained  to  this  rock  in  a  fir  wood! 
Little  of  aught  do  I  know  —  save  that  there  is 
wickedness  on  earth!"  He  tried  to  be  sardonic,  but 

200 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

could  not.  "Eh!"  said  Foulque.  "Three  emirs? 
And  at  what  did  they  hold  their  lives?" 

At  last  Castel-Noir  slept,  the  fair  moon  looking 
down.  The  next  day,  still  there  held  fairyland. 
When  another  day  came,  Garin  took  Paladin  that 
had  waited  for  him  all  these  years,  and,  followed  by 
Rainier,  rode  to  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  He  wished  to 
see  the  Abbess  and  ask  of  her  a  question.  Eight 
years  ago,  come  Martinmas,  what  lady  had  rested, 
a  guest,  with  Our  Lady  in  Egypt? 

The  summer  woods  were  passing  sweet  —  fresh 
and  sweet  under  whatever  strength  of  sun  to  those 
who  had  come  from  Syrian  towns  and  Syrian  suns. 
Garin  rode  with  an  open  heart,  smelled  sweet  odour, 
heard  every  song  and  movement,  praised  the  green 
wood  and  the  blue  sky.  At  last  they  saw  the  olives 
and  the  vineyards  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt  —  at  last 
the  massy  building.  And  now  Paladin  stopped  be 
fore  a  portal  that  Garin  remembered.  .  .  .All  these 
years,  Jaufre  de  Montmaure  had  been  in  the  back 
of  his  head,  but  hardly,  it  may  be  said,  the  herd-girl 
who  first  had  struggled  with  Jaufre.  Memory  might 
have  brought  her  oftener  to  view,  but  memory, 
when  it  came  to  women,  had  been  preoccupied  with 
the  Fair  Goal  —  with  the  lady  who  wore  the  blue, 
fine  stuff,  the  gem- wrought  girdle,  the  eastern  veil ! 
But  now,  sudden  and  vivid  as  life,  came  back  the 
herd-girl  who  had  ridden  behind  him  upon  this 
horse,  who,  at  the  convent  door  under  the  round 
arch,  had  looked  back  at  him  through  dark  and 

201 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

streaming  hair.  The  portress  opened  to  her  and  she 
entered  —  rushed  back  the  very  tone  and  sense  of 
blankness  and  of  wonder  with  which  he  had  re 
garded  the  closed  door!  " Saint  Agatha!  how  that 
tastes  upon  my  tongue!"  said  Garin. 

He  sat  staring  at  the  convent  portal.  Around  was 
midday  heat  and  stillness.  Drowned  in  that  past 
day,  he  gave  no  heed  to  a  sound  of  approaching 
horsemen.  But  now  Rainier  came  to  his  side.  ''Sir, 
there  are  armed  men  coming!  Best  knock  and  gain 
entrance  — •" 

But  Garin  turned  to  see  who  came.  A  small  party 
rode  into  sight  beneath  the  convent  trees  —  not 
more  than  a  dozen  horsemen.  One  bore,  depending 
from  a  lance,  a  pensil  of  blue  —  the  blue  of  Roche- 
de-Frene.  It  hung  unstirring  in  the  windless  noon. 
In  the  air  of  the  riders  there  was  something,  one 
knew  not  what,  of  dejection  or  of  portent.  They 
came  neither  fast  nor  slow,  the  hoofs  of  the  horses 
making  a  sullen  sound. 

Garin  looked.  At  times  there  blew  to  him,  through 
appearances,  a  wind  from  behind  appearances.  It 
gave  no  definite  word,  but  he  heard  the  rustling  of 
the  sibyl's  leaves.  He  drew  Paladin  a  little  to  one 
side  and  awaited  the  riders.  From  the  convent 
chapel  rose  a  sound  of  chanting  —  the  nuns  at  their 
office. 

The  cluster  of  horsemen  arrived  in  the  space  be 
fore  the  convent  door.  The  one  who  rode  in  front, 
a  knight  with  grizzled  hair  and  a  stern,  lean  face, 

202 


OUR  LADY  IN  EGYPT 

directed  an  enquiry  to  the  mounted  men  here  before 
him. 

Garin  answered.  "  I  am  of  Castel-Noir  —  ridden 
here  to-day  because  there  is  that  which  I  would  ask 
of  the  Abbess  Angela." 

The  grizzled  knight  shook  his  head.  He  spoke  to 
one  of  those  behind  him.  "Strike  upon  the  door, 
Raynold!"  then,  turning  in  his  saddle,  addressed 
himself  to  the  stranger  knight  in  the  blue  surcoat. 
"Fair  sir,  my  lady  Abbess,  methinks,  will  not  wish 
to  deal  to-day  with  any  matters  that  may  be  set 
aside." 

"  I  see  that  you  bring  heavy  tidings,"  said  Garin. 
"I  fight  for  Roche-de-Fr£ne.  What  are  they?" 

"Well  may  you  say  that  they  are  heavy!  Our 
lord,  Prince  Gaucelm,  is  slain." 

"The  prince  is  slain!" 

"There  has  been  a  great  battle,  ten  leagues  from 
here.  .  .  .  My  master!"  cried  the  grizzled  knight 
with  sombre  passion.  "The  best  prince  this  land 
has  known  —  Gaucelm  the  Good!" 

Garin  knew  that  the  head  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt 
was  a  sister  of  the  dead  prince.  No  longer  was  it  a 
day  in  which,  after  years  and  at  last,  he  might  ask 
his  question.  As  it  had  waited,  so  must  it  wait  still. 
He  and  Rainier  rode  back  to  Castel-Noir.  The  next 
day,  with  his  troop  behind  him,  he  left  Foulque,  the 
black  tower,  and  the  fir  wood,  and  the  next  he  joined 
the  host  of  Stephen  the  Marshal  where  it  lay  con 
fronting  Montmaure. 


CHAPTER  XV 
SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

THE  Princess  Audiart  crossed  the  river  that  made  a 
crescent  south  and  east  of  the  town,  —  her  errand, 
to  see  how  went  the  defences  on  that  side.  Two 
stout  towers  reared  themselves  there,  commanding 
the  river-bank,  guarding  the  bridge-head.  Beyond 
the  towers  workmen  in  great  numbers  deepened  a 
fosse,  heaped  ramparts,  strengthened  walls,  and  in 
the  earth  over  which  Montmaure  must  advance 
planted  sharpened  stakes  and  all  gins  and  snares 
that  the  inventive  mind  might  devise.  To  hold  this 
bridge  was  of  an  importance !  —  South  and  east 
stretched  the  yet  unharried  lands  and  the  roads  by 
which  must  come  in  food  for  the  town,  the  roads  by 
which  it  might  keep  in  touch  with  the  world  with 
out,  the  roads  by  which  might  travel  succour! 

The  day  was  a  blaze  of  light,  a  dry  and  parching 
heat.  The  river  ran  with  a  glitter  of  diamonds.  The 
stone  of  the  many-arched  bridge  threw  back  light. 
The  hill  of  Roche-de-Frene,  the  strong  walls,  the 
town  within  them,  the  towered,  huge  church,  the 
castle  lifted  higher  yet,  swam  in  radiance.  They  lost 
precision  of  outline,  they  seemed  lot  and  part  of  the 
daystar's  self. 

With  the  princess  there  rode  three  or  four  of  her 
204 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

captains.  Clearing  the  river  they  must  turn  their 
horses  aside,  out  of  the  way  of  a  multitudinous,  ap 
proaching  traffic  that  presently,  embouching  upon 
the  bridge,  covered  it  from  parapet  to  parapet. 
Noise  abounded.  A  herd  of  cattle  came  first,  des 
tined,  these,  for  the  slope  of  field  and  meadow  be 
tween  the  stream  and  the  town  walls.  Wagons  fol 
lowed  —  many  wagons  —  heaped  with  provision 
and  drawn  by  oxen.  They  held  grain  in  quantity, 
fodder,  cured  meat,  jars  of  oil,  dried  fruit,  pease  and 
beans,  whatever  might  be  gathered  near  and  far 
through  the  land.  They  came,  a  long  line  of  them, 
creaking  slow,  at  the  head  of  the  oxen  sometimes 
a  man  walking,  oftener  a  lad  or  a  woman.  They 
kept  the  princess  and  those  with  her  in  the  glare 
of  the  sun.  A  knight  spoke  impatiently.  "They 
creep ! ' ' 

"They  creep  because  they  are  heavily  laden," 
said  the  princess.  "Let  us  thank  our  Lady  Fortune 
that  they  creep!" 

The  wagons  gave  way  to  a  flock  of  sheep,  bleating 
and  jostling  each  the  other.  Followed  swine  with 
their  herd,  goats,  asses  bearing  panniers  from  which 
fowls  looked  unhappily  forth,  carts  with  bags  of 
meal,  a  wide  miscellany  of  matters  most  useful  to  a 
town  that  Montmaure  proposed  to  besiege  —  with 
Aquitaine  behind  him!  The  princess  noted  all.  The 
stream  flowed  by  her  orders,  and  her  mind  appraised 
the  store  that  was  adding  itself  this  morning  to  the 
store  already  gathered  in  town  and  castle.  She 

205 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

turned  her  horse  a  little  and  gazed  afar  over  the  green 
and  tawny  country. 

Out  of  the  sheen  of  the  day  came  from  another 
direction  a  straggling  crowd.  Nearer  at  hand  it 
resolved  itself  into  a  peasant  horde  —  a  few  men 
neither  strong  nor  weak,  but  more  very  aged  men, 
or  sick  or  crippled,  many  women  from  young  to  old, 
many  children.  They  also  had  carts,  four  or  five, 
heaped  with  strange  bits  of  clothing  and  household 
gear.  Lying  upon  these  were  helpless  folk  —  an  old, 
palsied  man,  a  woman  and  her  day-old  babe.  They 
came  on  with  a  kind  of  deep,  plaintive  murmur,  like 
a  wood  in  a  winter  blast. 

"Ah,  Jesu!"  said  the  princess.  "More  driven 
folk!" 

As  they  came  near  she  pushed  her  horse  toward 
them,  bent  from  her  saddle,  questioned  them.  They 
had  come  from  a  region  where  Montmaure  was 
harrying  —  they  had  a  tale  to  tell  of  an  attack  in  the 
night  and  a  burned  village.  Unlike  many  others, 
these  had  had  time  to  flee.  When  they  found  them 
selves  upon  the  road,  they  had  said  that  they  would 
go  to  Roche-de-Frene  and  tell  the  princess,  the 
prince  being  dead. 

"Aye,  aye!"  said  the  princess.  "Poor  folk  — 
poor  orphans!" 

She  gave  them  cheering  words,  then  sat  as  in  a 
dream  and  watched  them  faring  on  across  the  bridge 
and  up  the  climbing  road  to  the  town  gate. 

There  spoke  to  her  one  of  her  captains,  a  grey, 
206 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

redoubtable  fighter.  "'My  lady,  you  are  not  wise 
to  let  them  enter!  In  the  old  siege  your  great 
grandfather  let  not  in  one  useless  mouth!" 

"Aye!"  said  the  princess.  "When  I  was  little  I 
heard  stories  from  my  nurse  of  that  siege.  A  great 
number  died  without  the  walls.  Men,  women,  and 
children  died,  kneeling  and  stretching  their  arms  to 
the  shut  gates !  —  That  was  my  great-grandfather. 
But  I  will  not  have  my  harried  folk  wailing,  kneel 
ing  to  deaf  stone !  —  Now  let  us  ride  to  see  these 
barriers." 

The  day  was  at  the  crest  of  light  and  heat  when 
with  her  following  she  recrossed  the  bridge,  rode  up 
the  slope  of  summer  hill,  and  in  at  the  gate  of  the 
town  called  the  river-gate.  Everywhere  was  a  move 
ment  of  people,  a  buzzing  sound  of  work.  The  walls 
of  Roche-de-Frene  were  strong  —  but  nothing  is  so 
strong  that  it  cannot  be  strengthened!  Likewise 
there  were  many  devices,  modern  to  the  age  or  of 
an  advanced  efficiency.  The  princess  had  sent  for 
a  master-engineer,  drawing  him  with  rich  gifts  to 
Roche-de-Frene.  The  town  hummed  like  a  giant 
hive,  forewarned  of  the  strong  invader.  Prince  Gau- 
celm  lay  in  the  crypt  under  the  cathedral.  At  night 
the  horizon,  north  and  west,  burned  red  to  show  the 
steps  of  Montmaure.  Over  there,  too,  was  Stephen 
the  Marshal  with  a  host  —  though  with  never  so 
great  a  host  as  had  Montmaure  whom  Aquitaine 
aided.  In  the  high  white  light  and  dry  heat  Roche- 
de-Frene,  town  and  castle,  toiled  busily.  The  castle 

207 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

looked  to  the  town,  the  town  looked  to  the  castle. 
In  the  town,  by  the  walls,  were  gathered  master- 
workman  and  apprentice,  not  labouring  to-day  at 
dyeing  and  weaving  and  saddlery,  at  building 
higher  the  church-tower;  labouring  to-day  at  thick 
est  shield-making;  studying  to  keep  out  sack  and 
fire,  death  and  pillage,  rape  and  ruin,  studying  to 
keep  out  Montmaure. 

Thibaut  Canteleu  was  mayor,  chosen  by  the  town 
last  spring.  He  made  the  round  of  the  walls  with 
the  princess.  "By  all  showing,"  said  Thibaut,  "the 
walls  are  greater  and  stronger  than  in  the  old  siege." 

"Not  alone  the  walls,"  the  princess  answered. 

"You  are  right  there,  my  Lady  Audiart!  We  are 
more  folk  and  stronger.  We  begin  this  time,"  said 
Thibaut,  "well-nourished,  and,  after  a  manner  of 
speaking,  free.  Also,  which  is  a  very  big  thing,  liked 
and  liking." 

"  I  would,  Thibaut  Canteleu,  that  my  father  were 
here!" 

"Well,  and  my  lady,"  said  Canteleu,  "I  think 
that  he  is.  My  father,  rest  his  soul!  was  a  good  and 
a  bold  man,  and,  by  the  rood,  I  think  that  he  is 
here  —  only  younger  and  something  added!" 

The  princess  stayed  an  hour  and  more  by  the 
walls,  moving  from  point  to  point  with  the  captains 
and  directors  of  the  work.  At  one  place  a  company 
of  men  and  women  were  seated,  resting,  eating  bread, 
salad,  and  cheese,  drinking  a  little  red  wine.  She 
asked  for  a  bit  of  bread  and  ate  and  drank  with  them. 

208 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

A  child  clung  to  its  mother's  skirt,  hiding  its  face. 
4i  It's  the  princess  —  it's  the  princess  —  and  I  have 
not  on  my  lace  cap,  mother!" 

Audiart  smiled  down  on  her.  "  I  like  you  just  as 
well  without!"  She  talked  with  the  workers,  then 
nodded  her  head  and  rode  on. 

"Aye,"  said  Canteleu  beside  her.  "This  is  such  a 
tempered  town  as  Julius  Caesar  or  King  Alexander 
might  have  been  blithe  to  have  about  them!" 

The  princess  studied  him,  walking  by  the  bridle 
of  her  white  Arabian.  "What  would  you  do,  Thi- 
baut  Canteleu,  if  I  gave  you  Montmaure  for  lord?" 

Thibaut  looked  at  Roche-de-Frene  spread  around 
them,  and  then  looked  at  the  sky,  and  then  met, 
frank  and  full,  the  princess's  eyes  with  his  own  black 
ones. 

"What  could  we  do,  my  Lady  Audiart?  Begin 
again,  perchance,  where  we  began  in  your  great 
grandfather's  time.  Give  us  warning  ere  it  happen ! 
So  all  who  love  freedom  may  hang  themselves,  sav 
ing  Count  Jaufre  the  trouble!" 

"It  will  not  happen,"  said  Audiart.  She,  too, 
looked  at  Roche-de-Frene,  and  looked  at  the  sky. 
When  she  had  made  the  round  of  the  walls,  she  rode 
through  the  street  where  the  armourers  and  weapon- 
makers  worked  at  their  trade  more  busily  than  in 
the  days  of  peace,  and  to  the  quarter  where  the 
fletchers  worked,  and  to  the  storehouses  where  was 
being  heaped  the  incoming  grain  and  other  victual. 
Everywhere  reigned  activity.  Roche-de-Frene  con- 

209 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

tained  not  alone  its  own  citizens,  together  with  the 
castle  retainers,  the  poor  knights,  the  squires,  the 
people  of  vague  feudal  standing  and  their  followers 
whom  ordinarily  it  lodged,  but  in  at  the  gates  now, 
day  by  day,  rode  or  walked  fighting  men.  There 
mustered  to  the  town  and  the  crowning  great  pile  of 
the  castle  lords  and  knights,  esquires  and  mounted 
men  and  footmen.  Men  who  owed  service  came, 
and  in  lesser  numbers  free  lances  came.  And  all 
the  great  vassals  that  entered  had  kneeled  in  the 
castle  hall,  before  the  Princess  Audiart,  and  putting 
their  hands  between  hers,  had  taken  her  for  their 
liege  lady.  Where  had  reigned  Gaucelm  reigned 
Audiart. 

Each  day,  before  she  recrossed  the  castle  moat 
and  went  in  at  the  great  gate  between  Red  Tower 
and  Lion  Tower,  she  would  go  for  a  little  time  to  the 
cathedral.  She  rode  there  now,  knights  about  her. 
The  white  Arabian  stopped  where  he  was  wont  to 
stop.  Dismounting,  she  passed  the  tremendous, 
sculptured  portal  and  entered  the  place. 

Within  abode  a  solemn  and  echoing  dimness 
pointed  with  light.  There  were  a  score  of  shadowy, 
kneeling  folk,  and  the  lights  of  the  shrines  burned. 
The  pillars  stood  like  reeds  in  a  giant  elder  world. 
Thin  ladders  of  gold  light  came  down  between  them. 
Obeying  the  princess's  gesture,  the  two  or  three  with 
her  stayed  their  steps.  She  went  alone  to  the  chapel 
of  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene.  Here,  between  the 
Saracen  pillars,  before  the  tall,  jewelled  Queen  of 

210 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

Heaven,  before  the  lamps  fed  with  perfumed  oil,  lay 
a  great  slab  of  black  stone.  The  Princess  Audiart 
knelt  beside  it,  bowed  herself  until  her  forehead  felt 
the  coldness.  .  .  . 

She  bent  no  long  while  over  Gaucelm  the  Fortu 
nate,  lying  still  in  the  crypt  below.  Sorrow  must 
serve,  not  rule,  in  Roche-de-Frene!  Before  she  rose 
from  her  knees  and  went,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
image  in  blue  samite,  with  the  pierced  heart  and  the 
starry  crown.  But  her  own  heart  and  mind  spoke  to 
something  somewhat  larger,  more  nearly  the  whole. 
.  .  .  She  quitted  the  cathedral,  and  mounting  her 
Arabian,  turned  with  her  following  toward  the  castle 
heaped  against  the  sapphire  sky. 

Riding  that  way,  she  rode  by  the  bishop's  palace, 
and  in  the  flagged  place,  beside  the  dolphin  foun 
tain,  she  met  Bishop  Ugo.  He  checked  his  mule  by 
the  spraying  water,  those  with  him  attending  at  a 
little  distance. 

"Well  met,  my  Lord  Bishop!"  said  Audiart.  "I 
have  wished  to  take  counsel  with  you  as  to  these 
stones.  Here  are  five  hundred  fit  for  casting  upon 
Montmaure." 

Ugo  regarded  the  fair  space  between  fountain  and 
palace.  "Then  have  them  taken  up,  princess,  and 
borne  to  the  walls."  He  left  the  subject.  "Has  there 
come  any  messenger  from  the  host  to-day?" 

"No.   None." 

"  If  there  is  battle,"  said  Ugo,  "  I  pray  the  Blessed 
Mother  of  God  that  the  right  may  win! " 

211 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

He  spoke  with  attempted  unction.  What  was 
gained  was  more  acid  than  balm. 

The  princess  had  a  strange,  hovering  smile.  * '  How 
may  a  man  be  assured  in  this  world,"  she  asked, 
"which  of  two  shields  is  the  right  knight's?" 

Ugo  darted  a  look.  "How  may  a  man?  —  May  a 
woman,  then?" 

"As  much,  and  as  little,  as  a  man,"  answered  the 
Princess  Audiart.  "My  Lord  Bishop,  if  Count 
Jaufre  strikes  down  Roche-de-Frene,  will  you  wed 
him  and  me?" 

Ugo  kept  a  mask-like  face.  "I  am  a  man  of 
peace,  my  Lady  Audiart!  It  becomes  such  an  one 
to  wish  that  foes  were  friends,  and  hands  were 
joined." 

With  this  to  think  of,  the  princess  rode  through 
the  chief  street  of  Roche-de-Fr£ne,  the  castle  loom 
ing  nearer  and  more  huge  with  each  pace  of  the 
Arabian.  Here  was  the  deep  moat  and  the  bridge 
sounding  hollowly;  here  the  barbican,  Lion  Tower 
and  Red  Tower.  She  rode  beneath  the  portcullis, 
through  the  resounding,  vaulted  passage,  and  in  the 
court  the  noblest  knight  helped  her  from  her  horse. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  dull  green  stuff,  fine  and  thin, 
with  a  blue  mantle  for  need,  and  about  her  dark 
hair  a  veil  twisted  turban-wise.  Her  ladies  came  to 
meet  her,  silken  pages  and  chamberlains  stepped 
backward  before  her.  She  asked  for  Madame 
Alazais,  and  learning  that  she  was  in  the  garden, 
went  that  way. 

212 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

Cushions  had  been  piled  upon  a  bank  of  turf  in  the 
shadow  of  a  fruit  tree.  Here  reclined  Alazais,  beau 
tiful  as  Eve  or  Helen,  her  ladies  about  her  and  Gilles 
de  Valence  singing  a  new-old  song.  Alazais's  face 
was  pensive,  down-bent,  her  cheek  against  her  hand 
—  but  here  in  the  shade  the  day  was  desirable,  with 
air  enough  to  lift  away  the  heat  —  and  Gilles's  sing 
ing  pleased  her  —  and  the  world  and  life  must  be 
supported!  In  her  fashion  she  had  felt  fondness  for 
the  dead  prince,  —  felt  it  now  and  still,  —  but  yon 
der  was  death  and  here  was  life.  ...  As  for  war  in 
the  land  and  impending  fearful  siege,  Alazais  held 
that  matters  might  yet  be  compounded.  Until  this 
garden  wall  were  battered  in,  her  imagination  would 
not  serve  to  show  her  this  great  castle  death- 
wounded.  At  the  worst,  thought  Alazais,  Audiart 
might  wed  Count  Jaufre.  Men  were  not  so  hugely 
different.  .  .  . 

The  reigning  princess  came  and  sat  beside  her 
step-dame.  "  It  is  singing  and  beauty  just  to  be  here 
for  a  moment  under  this  tree! "  She  shut  her  eyes. 
"To  cease  from  striving  and  going  on!  To  rest  the 
whole  at  one  point  of  achieved  sweetness,  even  if  it 
were  not  very  high  sweetness  —  just  there  —  for 
aye!  It  would  tempt  a  god.  ..." 

The  next  day  she  rode  westward  from  the  town. 
Again  the  day  was  dry,  with  an  intense  and  arrowy 
light.  She  rode  with  a  small  train  some  distance  into 
the  tawny  land,  to  a  strong  castle  that,  strongly 
held,  might  give  Montmaure  a  check.  She  rode 

213 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

here  to  give  wise  praise,  to  speak  to  those  who  gar 
risoned  it  words  of  the  most  courageous  expectation. 
She  ate  with  her  train  in  hall,  rested  in  the  cool  of 
the  thick-walled  room  for  the  hour  of  extremest 
heat,  spoke  again  with  feeling,  wit,  and  fire  to  the 
knights  and  men-at-arms  who  must  desperately  hold 
the  place;  then,  with  her  following,  said  farewell  and 
good-speed.  She  turned  back  toward  Roche-de- 
Fr6ne,  through  the  burned,  high  summer  country. 

The  sun  was  in  the  western  heaven.  Tall  cypresses 
by  the  road  cast  shadows  of  immense  length.  There 
lay  ahead  a  grove  of  pine  and  oak,  a  certain  famous 
cold  and  bubbling  spring,  and  a  meeting  with  a 
lesser,  winding  road.  "  I  am  thirsty,"  said  the  prin 
cess.  "Let  us  draw  rein  at  Saint  Martha's  Well." 

Entering  the  grove,  they  found  another  there  be 
fore  them,  athirst  and  drinking  of  the  well.  A  knight 
in  a  blue  surcoat  knelt  upon  the  grass  beside  the 
water  and  drank.  His  shield  rested  against  a  tree, 
he  had  taken  off  his  helmet  and  placed  it  on  the 
grass  beside  him,  a  squire  held  his  horse.  As  the 
princess  and  her  train  came  to  the  well-side  he  rose, 
stepped  back  with  a  gesture  of  courtesy.  He  had  in 
his  hand  a  cup  of  horn  set  in  silver. 

Several  of  those  with  the  princess  dismounted  — 
one  spoke  to  the  stranger  knight.  "  Fair  sir,  we  have 
no  cup!  If  you  will  be  frank  with  yours  — " 

Garin  stooped  again  to  the  water,  rinsed  and 
filled  the  cup,  and  carried  it  to  the  side  of  the  white 
Arabian.  The  princess  took  it,  thanked  him,  and 

214 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

drank.  Her  eyes  noted,  over  the  rim  of  the  cup,  the 
cross,  proclaiming  that  he  had  fought  in  Palestine. 
Below  it,  on  the  breast  of  his  blue  surcoat,  was  em 
broidered  a  bird  with  outstretched  wings.  She 
drank,  returned  the  cup  and  thanked  the  knight. 
He  was  deeply  bronzed,  taller,  wider  of  shoulder, 
changed  here  and  changed  there  from  Garin  the 
Squire.  In  his  face  sat  powers  of  thought  and  will 
that  had  hardly  dwelled  there  so  plainly  years  ago. 
She  was  not  aware  that  she  had  seen  him  before. 
She  saw  only  a  goodly  knight,  and  possessing,  as 
she  did,  wide  knowledge  of  the  chivalry  within  her 
princedom,  wondered  whence  he  had  come.  She  had 
viewed  famed  knights  from  many  a  land,  but  she 
could  not  recall  this  traveller  with  his  embroidered 
bird. 

She  spoke  to  him  with  her  forthright  graciousness. 
"Fair  sir,  are  you  for  Roche-de-Frene?" 

"Aye,"  said  Garin.  "  I  come  from  the  host,  bearer 
of  a  letter  to  the  princess  from  my  lord  Stephen  the 
Marshal.  If,  lady,  you  are  she  — " 

"I  am  Audiart,"  said  the  princess,  and  held  out 
her  hand  for  the  letter. 

Garin  bent  his  knee,  took  from  his  breast  the  let 
ter  wrapped  in  silk,  and  gave  it.  The  princess  drew 
off  her  glove,  broke  the  seal  and  read,  sitting  the 
white  Arabian  by  the  murmuring  spring.  Those  with 
her  waited  without  movement  that  might  disturb. 
Trees  of  the  grove  whispered  in  the  evening  air, 
splashed  gold  from  the  sun  lay  here  and  there  like 

215 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

fairy  wealth.  The  marshal  wrote  of  ambushments, 
attacks,  repulses,  conflicts  where  Roche-de-Frene 
had  been  victorious.  But  the  two  counts  were  to 
gether  now,  and  the  odds  were  great.  New  men  had 
come  to  them  from  Aquitaine.  The  host  was  great 
of  spirit,  and  he,  Stephen  the  Marshal,  would  do 
his  best.  But  let  none  be  dismayed  if  there  came 
some  falling  back  toward  the  town.  So  the  frank 
marshal,  a  good  general  and  truth- teller. 

The  princess  read,  sat  for  a  moment  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  light  falling  through  the  trees,  then 
spoke,  giving  to  her  knights  the  substance  of  the 
letter.  "So  it  runs,  sirs!  So  the  wheel  turns  and 
turns,  and  no  mind  can  tell  —  But  the  mind  may  be 
courageous,  though  it  knows  not  the  body's  for 
tunes." 

She  folded  the  marshal's  letter,  put  it  within  her 
silken  purse,  and  drew  on  her  glove.  She  spoke  to 
Garin.  "How  do  they  call  you,  sir?  Are  you  man 
of  ours?" 

"I  am  your  man,  lady.  I  am  Garin,  younger 
brother  of  Foulque  of  Castel-Noir,  and  I  am  like 
wise  called  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island." 

"Ride  beside  us  to  the  town,"  said  the  princess, 
"and  give  tidings  of  the  host." 

Garin  mounted  Noureddin.  Rainier  bore  his 
helmet  and  shield.  The  company  left  the  grove  for 
the  open  road.  The  road  and  all  the  earth  lay  in  the 
gold  of  evening,  and  in  the  distance,  lifted  against 
the  clear  sapphire  of  the  east,  was  Roche-de-Frene. 

216 


SAINT  MARTHA'S  WELL 

Garin  rode  beside  the  princess  and  gave  the  news  of 
the  host.  She  questioned  with  keen  intelligence,  and 
he  answered,  it  seemed,  to  her  liking. 

When  she  had  gained  what  she  wished,  she  rode 
for  a  time  in  silence,  then,  "  I  knew  not  that  Foulque 
of  Castel-Noir  had  a  brother." 

"Years  ago,"  said  Garin,  "I  took  the  cross  and 
went  to  Palestine.  This  summer  I  came  home  and 
found  the  land  afire.  With  two  score  men  I  left 
Castel-Noir,  and  with  them  joined  the  marshal  and 
the  host." 

"He  speaks  of  you  in  his  letter  and  gives  you  high 
praise.  It  is  Lord  Stephen's  way  to  praise  justly." 

"  I  would  do  my  devoir,"  said  Garin. 

Roche-de-Frene  lay  before  them.  Castle  and  town 
and  all  the  country  roundabout  were  bathed  by  a 
light  golden  and  intense.  ' '  Garin  de  risk  d'Or, ' '  said 
the  princess.  "There  is  a  troubadour  named  so  — 
and  he  sang,  too,  in  the  land  beyond  the  sea.  Are 
you  he?" 

"Yes." 

"You  sing  of  one  whom  you  name  the  Fair  Goal?  " 

"Aye,  princess,"  said  Garin.    "She  is  my  lady." 

"Lives  she  in  this  land?" 

"I  know  not.  I  have  been  in  her  presence  but 
once  —  and  that  was  long  ago.  I  think  that  she 
lives  afar." 

"Ah,"  thought  the  princess,  "behold  your  poet- 
lover,  straining  and  longing  toward  he  knows  not 
what  nor  whom  —  save  that  it  is  afar!"  Aloud  she 

217 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

said,  "If  we  are  besieged  in  Roche-de-Frene  brave 
songs,  as  well  as  brave  deeds,  will  have  room." 

Turning  to  the  south  and  then  to  the  east  they 
rode  by  the  river  and  so  came  to  the  fosse,  ramparts, 
and  towers,  guardians  of  the  bridge-head,  and  then 
upon  the  bridge  itself.  Right  and  left  they  saw  the 
gilded  water,  in  front  the  hill  of  Roche-de-Frene, 
with,  for  diadem,  the  strong  town  walled  and  tow 
ered,  and  high  and  higher  yet,  the  mighty  castle. 
The  horses'  hoofs  made  a  deep  sound,  then  they  were 
away  from  the  bridge  and  climbing  the  road  to  the 
river-gate.  A  horn  was  winded,  clear  and  silver.  Now 
they  were  riding  through  the  streets,  filled  with  folk. 
Garin  thought  of  an  autumn  day,  and  looked  at  the 
tower  of  the  cathedral,  higher  now  than  then.  .  .  . 
The  street  climbed  upward,  the  castle  loomed,  vast 
as  a  dream  in  the  violet  light. 

"The  castle  will  give  you  lodging,  sir  knight,"  said 
the  princess. 

Here  was  the  moat,  across  it  Red  Tower  and  Lion 
Tower.  Garin  looked  up  at  the  great  blue  banner, 
and  then  along  the  battlements  to  where  waved  the 
green  of  the  garden  trees.  Again  there  flashed  into 
mind  that  autumn  day,  and  that  he  had  wondered 
if  ever  he  would  enter  here,  a  knight,  and  serve  his 
suzerain. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GARIN  AND  JAUFRE 

WITH  a  great  host  Montmaure  encamped  before 
Roche-de-Frene  and  overran  the  champaign  half 
way  around.  Of  the  remainder,  one  fourth  was,  so 
to  speak,  debatable  ground,  —  now  the  field  of  the 
blue  banner  and  now  that  of  the  green  and  silver. 
The  final  fourth  was  stubbornly  held  by  Stephen 
the  Marshal  and  the  host.  This  gave  to  the  east  and 
included  the  curve  of  the  river,  the  bridge  and  its 
towers,  and  the  road  by  which  still  travelled,  from 
unharried  lands,  food  for  the  beleaguered  town. 

Montmaure's  tents  covered  the  plain.  Off  into  the 
deep  summer  woods  fringed  the  myriad  of  camp- 
followers,  sutlers,  women,  thieves,  outlawed  persons. 
But  the  fighting  mass  showed  from  the  besieged 
town  like  a  magic  and  menacing  carpet  spread  half 
around  it,  creeping  and  growing  to  complete  the 
ring.  What  was  for  the  time  a  great  army  besieged 
Roche-de-Fr£ne. 

The  barons,  vassals  or  allies  of  Montmaure,  had 
each  his  quarter  where  he  planted  his  standard,  and 
whence  he  led  in  assault  the  men  who  called  him 
lord.  The  Free  Companies  pitched  among  vine 
yards  or  where  had  been  vineyards.  The  spears  from 
Aquitaine  and  a  huge  number  of  bowmen  covered 

219 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

thickly  old  wheat-fields,  pastures,  and  orchards. 
Near  as  might  safely  be  to  the  walls  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,  —  so  near  that  the  din  of  the  town  might  be 
heard,  that  the  alarum  bell,  when  it  rang,  rocked 
loud  in  their  ears,  —  were  raised,  in  the  fore-front 
of  tents  as  numerous  as  autumn  sheaves,  the  pavil 
ions  of  Count  Savaric  and  of  his  son,  Count  Jaufre. 
It  was  August  wreather,  hot  and  thunderous. 

Jaufre  de  Montmaure  came  to  the  door  of  his 
pavilion  and  looked  at  the  hill,  the  town  and  castle 
of  Roche-de-Frene.  Behind  the  three  were  storm 
clouds,  over  them  storm  light.  The  banner  of  the 
Princess  Audiart  flew  high.  Against  the  grey, 
heaped  vapour  it  showed  like  an  opening  into  blue 
sky. 

Each  day  and  every  day  assaults  were  made.  One 
was  now  in  progress,  directed  against  the  bridge 
head,  very  visible  from  Jaufre's  tent.  Aimeric  the 
Bastard  led  it,  and  Aimeric  was  a  fierce  warrior,  fol 
lowed  by  men  whose  only  trade  was  fighting.  The 
atmosphere  was  still,  hushed,  grey,  and  sultry,  dull 
ing  the  noise  that  was  made.  The  mass  of  the  force 
was  not  concerned. 

Jaufre  stood,  tall  and  red-gold,  hawk-nosed,  and 
with  a  scar  across  his  cheek.  He  was  without  armour 
and  lightly  clothed,  to  meet  the  still  heat.  Upon  the 
ground  without  the  tent  had  been  spread  skins  of 
wild  beasts.  He  spoke  over  his  shoulder,  then,  mov 
ing  to  these  skins,  threw  himself  down  upon  them. 
Unconquered  town  and  castle,  the  present  attack 

220 


GARIN  AND   JAUFRE 

upon  the  bridge,  the  slow  coming  of  the  storm,  the 
blue,  undaunted  banner  could  best  be  noted  just 
from  here.  A  squire  brought  a  flagon  of  wine  from 
the  tent  and  set  it  beside  him. 

Out  of  a  pavilion  fifty  yards  away  came  Count 
Savaric,  and  crossed  the  space  to  his  son.  With  an 
inner  tardiness  Jaufre  rose  from  the  skins  and  stood. 
11 1  have  sent  word  to  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup  to  take 
his  Company  to  Aimeric's  help,"  said  Count  Savaric. 
He  took  a  seat  that  they  brought  him. 

Count  Jaufre  lay  down  again  upon  the  skins. 
There  held  the  grey  breathlessness  and  light  of  the 
slow-travelling  storm. 

Count  Savaric  watched  the  dust-cloud  that  hid 
the  bridge-head,  obscuring  the  strong  tower  and  the 
supporting  works  that  Roche-de-Frene  had  built 
and,  with  the  aid  of  its  encamped  host,  yet  held 
against  all  assault. 

But  Jaufre  regarded  moodily  the  walled  town  and 
the  castle.  He  spoke.  "This  tent  has  stood  here  a 
month  to-day,  and  we  have  buried  many  knights." 

"Just,"  answered  Count  Savaric.  "Barons  and 
knights  and  a  host  of  the  common  people.  A  great 
jewel  is  a  costly  thing!" 

"I  miss  my  comrade,  Hugues  le  Gai.  And  Rich 
ard  will  not  lightly  take  the  loss  of  Guy  of  Per- 
pignan." 

"Duke  Richard  knows  how  jewels  cost." 

Jaufre  waved  a  sinewy  hand  toward  Roche-de- 
Frene.  The  half-light  and  the  storm  in  the  air  edged 

221 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

his  mood.  "Well,  they  will  pay!"  he  said.  He  lay 
silent  for  a  minute,  then  spoke  again,  but  more  to 
himself  than  to  Count  Savaric.  "  Until  lately  I  took 
that  woman  yonder — "  he  jerked  a  thumb  toward 
the  high,  distant,  blue  banner,  —  "  for  the  mere  earth 
I  must  take  in  hand  to  get  the  diamond  of  Roche- 
de-Frene!  So  I  had  the  diamond,  the  bride  that 
came  with  it  was  no  great  matter.  She  had  no  beauty, 
they  said.  But,  Eye  of  God !  there  were  other  women 
on  earth!  They  are  plentiful.  Take  this  one  that 
went  with  the  diamond,  get  sons  upon  her,  and  let 
her  be  silent.  .  .  .  Now,  I  care  less  for  the  diamond, 
I  think,  than  to  humble  the  Princess  Audiart!" 
Count  Savaric,  leaning  forward,  regarded  the 

bridge-end.  "  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup  is  there Ha, 

they  send  men  to  meet  him !  That  may  develop  — ' ' 
The  castle  loomed  against  the  grey  curtain  of 
cloud.  The  minutiae  of  the  place  appeared  to  en 
large,  intensify.  Each  detail  grew  individual,  stub 
born,  a  fortress  in  itself.  The  whole  mocked  like  the 
heaped  clouds.  "Ha,  my  Lady  Audiart!"  said  Jau- 
fre,  "who  will  not  have  me  for  lord  —  who  takes  a 
sword  in  her  hand  and  fights  me  — " 

He  sat  up  upon  the  skins,  poured  himself  a  cup 
of  wine,  and  drank. 

His  father,  looking  still  at  the  bridge-tower,  rose 
with  suddenness  to  his  feet.  "The  lord  of  Chalus 
and  his  men  are  going  in!  There  must  be  yonder 
half  Stephen  the  Marshal's  force!  The  plain  stirs. 
Ha!  best  arm — " 


222 


GARIN    AND   JAUFRE 

Jaufre  rose  now  also.  There  was  a  gleam  in  his 
eye.  "Breath  of  God!"  he  said.  "I  feel  to-day 
like  battle!" 

His  squires  armed  him.  While  they  worked  the 
trumpets  blew,  rousing  every  segment  of  the  camp. 
Trumpets  answered  from  beyond  the  bridge.  In  the 
town  the  alarum  bell  began  its  deep  ringing.  The 
day  turned  sound  and  motion.  Count  Savaric  left 
his  tent,  mounted  a  charger  that  was  brought,  and 
spurred  to  the  head  of  a  press  of  knights.  The  col 
ours  of  the  plain  shifted  to  the  eye ;  dust  hung  above 
the  head  of  the  bridge  and  all  the  earth  thereabouts ; 
out  of  it  came  a  heavy  sound  with  shouting.  The 
area  affected  increased;  it  was  evident  that  there 
might  ensue  a  considerable,  perhaps  a  general, 
battle.  It  was  as  though  a  small  stir  in  the  air  had 
unexpectedly  spread  to  whirlwind  dimensions.  And 
all  the  time  the  sky  hung  moveless,  with  an  iron 
tint. 

They  armed  Jaufre  in  chain-mail,  put  over  this  a 
green  surcoat  worked  with  black,  attached  his  spurs, 
laced  his  helmet,  gave  him  knightly  belt  and  two- 
edged  sword,  held  the  stirrup  while  he  mounted  the 
war  horse,  gave  him  shield  and  spear.  He  looked  a 
red-gold  giant,  and  he  was  a  bold  fighter,  and  many 
a  man  followed  him  willingly.  He  shook  his  spear  at 
the  castle,  and  at  the  banner  waving  above  the  huge 
donjon.  "Ha,  Audiart  the  Wise!  Watch  now  your 
lord  do  battle!" 

Around  the  bridge-head,  where  Stephen  the  Mar- 
223 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

shal  had  his  host,  the  battle  sprang  into  being  with 
an  unexpectedness.  There  had  been  meant  but  a 
heavier  than  ordinary  support  to  the  endangered 
barriers,  a  stronger  outward  push  against  Aimeric 
the  Bastard  and  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup.  But  the 
tension  of  the  atmosphere,  the  menace  and  urge,  the 
storm-light  affected  alike  Roche-de-Frene  and  Mont- 
maure.  Each  side  threw  forward  more  men  and 
more.  From  the  bridge-head  the  shock  and  clamour 
ate  into  the  plain.  The  melee  deepened  and  spread. 
Suddenly,  with  a  trampling  and  shouting,  a  lifting  of 
dust  to  the  skies,  the  whole  garment  was  rent.  There 
arrived,  though  none  had  looked  for  it  on  this  day, 
general  battle.  .  .  .  The  leaders  appeared,  barons 
and  famed  knights.  Here  was  the  marshal,  valiant 
and  cool,  bestriding  a  great  steed,  cheering  on  his 
people,  wielding  himself  a  strong  sword.  The  battle 
was  over  open  earth,  and  among  the  tents  and  quar 
ters  of  the  soldiery,  and  against  and  from  the  cover 
of  the  works  that  guarded  the  bridge.  Now  it 
shrieked  and  thundered  in  the  space  between  the 
opposing  camps,  now  among  the  tents  of  Roche-de- 
Fr£ne  and  now  among  those  of  Montmaure.  Ban 
ners  dipped  and  fell  and  rose  again,  were  advanced 
or  withdrawn.  There  were  a  huge  number  of  ban 
ners,  bright-hued,  parti-coloured.  They  showed 
amid  the  dust  like  giant  flowers  torn  from  a  giant 
garden  and  tossed  in  air.  It  became  a  fell  struggle, 
where  riderless  war  horses  galloped  hither  and  yon, 
and  the  footmen  fought  hard  with  pike  and  sword, 

224 


GARIN   AND   JAUFRE 

and  the  crossbowmen  sent  their  bolts,  and  the 
archers  sent  whistling  flights  of  arrows.  And  still 
the  clouds  hung  grey,  and  the  town  and  castle  drawn 
against  them  watched  breathlessly. 

Aimar  de  Panemonde  had  joined  his  brother-in 
arms.  A  brave  and  beautiful  knight,  he  rode  in  the 
onset  beside  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  The  two 
lowered  lances  and  came  against  two  knights  of 
Montmaure.  The  knights  were  good  knights,  but 
the  men  from  Palestine  defeated  and  unhorsed  them. 
One  was  hurt  to  death,  the  other  his  people  rescued. 
Garin  and  Aimar,  sweeping  forward,  met,  by  a  bit  of 
wall,  mounted  men  of  a  Free  Company.  .  .  .  The 
din  had  grown  as  frightful  as  if  the  world  was  crash 
ing  down.  Always  Montmaure  might  remember 
that  Montmaure  had  in  field  twice  as  many  as 
Roche-de-Frene.  Garin  and  Aimar  thrust  through 
the  press  by  the  wall,  rode  with  other  knights  where 
the  fight  was  fiercest.  Garin  wished  to  encounter 
Jaufre  de  Montmaure;  he  searched  for  the  green  and 
silver  banner.  But  there  was  a  wild  toss  of  colours, 
shifting  and  indeterminate.  Moreover  the  day,  dark 
before,  darkened  yet  further;  it  was  not  possible  to 
see  clearly  to  any  distance. 

And  then,  suddenly,  a  knight  was  before  him,  on 
a  great  bay  horse  caparisoned  with  green  picked  out 
with  black,  the  knight  himself  in  a  green  surcoat. 
The  helmet  masked  the  face,  all  save  the  eyes.  Each 
combatant  shook  a  spear  and  drove  against  the 
other,  but  a  wave  of  battle  surging  by  made  the 

225 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

course  not  true.  The  green  knight's  spear  struck  the 
edge  of  Garin's  shield.  But  the  latter's  lance,  en 
countering  the  other's  casque,  burst  the  fastening, 
unhelmed  him.  Red-gold  hair  showed,  hawk  nose, 
scar  across  the  cheek. 

"Ha!"  cried  Garin.  "I  know  you!  Do  you,  per 
chance,  know  me?" 

But  the  battle  drove  them  apart.  Here  in  the 
press  was  no  longer  a  knight  in  green.  Garin,  look 
ing  around,  saw  only  dim  struggling  forms,  knights 
and  footmen.  Aimar  had  been  with  him,  but  the 
waves  had  borne  Aimar,  too,  to  a  distance.  He  lost 
Rainier  also,  and  his  men.  Here  was  the  grey,  re 
sounding  plain  beneath  the  livid  sky,  and  the  battle, 
that,  as  a  whole,  went  against  Roche-de-Frene.  His 
horse  sank  under  him,  cut  down  by  Cap-du-Loup's 
men.  Garin  drew  his  sword,  fought  afoot.  He  saw 
a  tossed  banner,  heard  a  long  trumpet-call,  hewed 
his  way  where  the  press  was  thickest.  A  riderless 
horse  coming  by  him,  trampling  the  dead  and  the 
hurt  that  lay  thickly,  he  caught  it  by  the  bridle  and 
brought  it  in  time  to  Stephen  the  Marshal  full  in  the 
midst  of  that  seething  war.  "Gramercy!"  cried 
Stephen,  and  swung  himself  into  saddle.  Roche-de- 
Frene  rallied,  swept  toward  Montmaure's  coloured 
tents.  Overhead  the  thunder  was  rolling. 

Garin,  his  back  to  a  heap  of  stones,  fought  as  he 
had  fought  in  the  land  over  the  sea.  A  bay  horse 
came  his  way  again.  Jaufre  de  Montmaure,  un 
helmed,  towered  above  him,  sword  in  hand.  Garin's 

226 


GARIN   AND   JAUFRE 

casque  was  without  visor;  his  features  showed,  and 
in  the  pallid  light  his  blue  surcoat  with  the  bird  upon 
the  breast.  "Will  you  leave  your  horse?"  quoth 
Garin.  "  It  were  better  chivalry  so." 

"I  meet  you  the  second  time  to-day.  Moreover 
we  encountered  a  fortnight  ago,  in  the  fight  by  the 
river.  Beside  that,"  said  Jaufre,  "  there  is  something 
that  comes  back  to  me  —  but  I  cannot  seize  it!  Be 
fore  I  slay  you,  tell  me  your  name." 

"Garin  of  the  Golden  Island." 

Jaufre  made  a  pause.  "You  are  the  trouba 
dour?" 

"Just." 

1 '  So  that  Richard  knows  not  that  I  cut  you  down !" 
said  Jaufre,  and  struck  with  his  sword. 

But  not  for  nothing  had  Garin  trained  in  the 
East.  The  blade  that  should  have  bitten  deep  met 
an  upward  glancing  blade.  The  stroke  was  turned 
aside.  Jaufre  made  a  second  and  fiercer  essay  — 
the  sword  left  his  hand,  came  leaping  and  clattering 
upon  the  heap  of  stones.  "Eye  of  God!"  swore 
Jaufre  and  hurled  himself  from  his  war  horse. 

"Take  your  sword!"  said  Garin.  "And  yet  once, 
where  I  was  concerned,  you  lied,  making  oath  that 
I  struck  you  from  behind  and  unawares  — " 

"Who  are  you  with  your  paynim  play?  Who  are 
you  that  I  seem  to  know?" 

"  I  was  not  knight,  but  squire  —  when  I  tied  your 
hands  with  your  horse's  reins!" 

A  deeper  red  came  to  Montmaure's  face,  the 
227 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

veins  stood  out  upon  his  brow,  his  frame  trembled. 
"  Now  I  remember  — !  Flame  of  Hell!  You  are  that 
insolent  whom  I  sought  — " 

"I  flew  from  your  grasp,  and  I  wintered  well  in 
Palestine.  —  And  still  you  injure  women!" 

Jaufre  lunged  with  the  recovered  sword.  "I  will 
kill  you  now  — •" 

"That  is  as  may  be,"  said  Garin,  and  began  again 
the  paynim  play. 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  have  to-day  Jaufre's 
death  upon  him,  nor  to  spill  his  own  life.  With 
shouting  and  din,  through  the  blackening  air,  Count 
Savaric  swept  this  way,  a  thousand  with  him.  The 
melee  became  wild,  confused  and  dream-like.  Jaufre 
sprang  backward  from  the  sword,  like  a  serpent's 
darting  tongue,  of  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  The 
Lord  of  Chalus  pushed  a  black  steed  between  and 
with  a  mace  struck  Garin  down.  He  sank  beside  the 
heap  of  stones,  and  for  a  time  lost  knowledge  of  the 
clanging  fight.  It  went  this  way  and  it  went  that. 
But  the  host  of  Roche-de-Frene  had  great  odds 
against  it,  and  faster  and  faster  it  lost.  .  .  . 

Garin  came  back  to  consciousness.  Storm-light 
and  failing  day,  sound  as  of  world  ruin,  odour  of 
blood,  oppression  of  many  bodies  in  narrow  space, 
faintness  of  heat  —  Garin  looked  upward  and  saw 
through  a  cleft  in  the  battle  Roche-de-Fr£ne  upon 
its  hill-top,  and  the  castle  grey  against  the  grey 
heaven,  a  looming  grey  dream.  He  sank  again  into 
the  sea  and  night,  but  when  he  lifted  again,  lifted 

228 


GARIN   AND   JAUFRE 

clear.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  found  Aimar  beside 
him,  and  Rainier. 

Aimar  bent  to  him.  "What,  Garin,  Garin!  All 
saints  be  praised!  I  thought  you  dead  — " 

"I  live,"  said  Garin.  "But  the  day  is  going 
against  us.'* 

He  spoke  dreamily,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Before 
and  above  him  he  still  saw  the  grey  castle.  It  light 
ened,  and  in  a  wide  picture  showed  the  broken  host 
and  the  faces  of  fleeing  men.  One  came  by  with  out 
spread  arms.  "Lord  Stephen  is  down  —  sore  hurt 
or  dead!  Lord  Stephen  is  down  — •" 

Thunder  crashed.  Beneath  its  long  reverbera 
tions  sounded  a  wailing  of  trumpets.  This  died,  and 
there  arose  a  savage  shouting,  noise  of  Montmaure's 
triumph.  It  lightened  and  thundered  again.  Other 
and  many  trumpets  sounded,  not  at  hand  but  some 
what  distantly,  not  mournfully,  but  with  voices 
high  and  resolved  and  jubilant.  Garin  thought  that 
they  came  from  the  castle,  then  that  they  were  blow 
ing  in  the  streets  of  the  town,  then  that  they  sounded 
without  the  walls,  from  the  downward  slope  of  the 
great  road.  Rose  came  into  the  grey  of  the  world, 
salt  into  its  flatness. 

"Blessed  Mother  of  God!"  cried  Aimar.  "See 
yonder,  rescue  streaming  from  the  gates  — " 

Forth  from  Roche-de-Frene  poured  the  castle 
garrison,  poured  the  burghers.  They  came,  each 
man  armed  as  he  would  run,  at  the  alarum  bell,  to 
the  walls.  Knight  and  sergeant  rode;  the  many 

229 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

hasted  afoot.  All  the  old  warriors  and  the  young 
warriors,  whose  post  of  duty  had  been  within  the 
place,  sprang  forth,  and  followed  them  the  host  of 
the  townsmen,  at  their  head  Thibaut  Canteleu.  But 
at  the  head  of  all,  chivalry,  foot-soldiers  and  towns 
men,  rode  the  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene.  Down 
came  the  torrent,  in  the  light  of  the  storm,  down  the 
hill  of  Roche-de-Frene,  over  the  bridge,  then  wid 
ened  itself  and  came  impetuous,  with  a  kind  of  sing 
ing  will,  freshness,  and  power  upon  the  plain,  to  the 
battle  that  the  one  side  had  thought  won  and  the 
other  lost. 

All  lethargy  passed  from  Garin's  senses.  He  be 
held  the  rallying  of  the  host,  beheld  Stephen  the 
Marshal,  sore  wounded  but  not  to  death,  lifted  and 
borne  to  the  great  tower,  beheld  the  princess,  wear 
ing  mail  like  a  man,  a  helmet  upon  her  head,  in  her 
hand  a  sword.  She  rode  a  grey  destrier,  and  where 
her  banner  came,  came  courage,  hope,  and  victory. 
The  battle  turned.  Montmaure  was  thrust  back 
upon  his  tents.  When  the  tempest  broke,  with  a 
great  rain  and  whistling  wind,  with  lightning  that 
blinded  and  pealing  thunder,  when  the  twilight 
came  down  and  the  battle  rested,  it  was  Mont 
maure  that  had  lost  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

OUR   LADY   OF    ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

STEPHEN  the  Marshal  lay  in  a  fair  chamber  in  the 
castle  of  Roche-de-Frene,  very  grievously  hurt  and 
fevered  with  his  hurt.  A  physician  attended  him, 
and  his  squires  watched,  and  an  old  skilled  woman, 
old  nurse  of  the  Princess  Audiart,  sat  beside  his  bed. 
Sometimes  Alazais,  with  the  Lady  Guida,  came 
to  the  room,  stood  and  murmured  pitiful  words. 
Through  the  windows,  deep  set  in  the  thick  wall,  en 
tered,  through  the  long  day,  other  sound,  not  pitiful. 
At  times  it  came  as  well  in  the  long  night.  Mont- 
maure  might  assault  three,  four  times  during  the 
day  and,  for  that  he  would  wear  out  the  defenders, 
strike  again  at  midnight  or  ere  the  cock  crew. 

Montmaure  had  so  many  fighting  men  that  half 
might  rest  through  the  day  or  sleep  at  night  while 
their  fellows  wore  down  Roche-de-Frene.  Count 
Jaufre  had  ridden  westward  and  northward,  — 
after  the  day  of  the  wounding  of  Stephen,  —  and 
coming  to  Autafort  where  was  Duke  Richard,  had 
procured,  after  a  night  of  talk  and  song,  dawn  mass, 
and  a  headlong,  sunrise  gallop  between  the  hills,  the 
gift  of  other  thousands  of  men  wherewith  to  pay 
the  cost  of  the  jewel.  Normans,  Angevins,  men  of 
Poitou  and  Gascony,  Englishmen,  soldiers  of  for- 

231 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

tune,  and  Free  Companions  —  they  followed  Jaufre 
de  Montmaure  to  Roche-de-Frene  and  swelled  the 
siege.  They  were  promised  great  booty,  plenary 
license  when  the  town  was  sacked,  a  full  meal  for  the 
lusts  of  the  flesh. 

The  host  defending  Roche-de-Frene  grew  smaller, 
the  host  grew  small  and  worn.  Vigilance  that  must 
never  cease  to  be  vigilant,  attack  by  day  and  by 
night,  many  slain  and  many  hurt,  death  and  wound 
ing  and,  at  last,  disease  —  and  yet  the  host  held  the 
bridge-head  and  the  bridge,  made  no  idle  threat 
against  Montmaure,  but  struck  quick  and  deep.  It 
did  what  was  possible  to  the  heroic  that  yet  was 
human.  .  .  .  There  came  a  day  when  the  entire  force 
of  Montmaure  thrown,  shock  upon  shock,  against 
the  barriers,  burst  a  way  in.  The  strong  towers, 
guardians  of  the  bridge,  could  no  longer  stand.  The 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  must  draw  a  shattered 
host  across  the  river,  up  the  hill  of  Roche-de-Frene, 
and  in  at  the  gates  to  the  shelter  of  the  strong- walled 
town. 

It  was  done;  foot  by  foot  the  bridge  was  surren 
dered  ,  foot  by  foot  the  host  brought  off.  From  hillside 
and  wall  the  archers  and  the  crossbowmen  sent  their 
bolts  singing  through  the  air,  keeping  back  Mont 
maure.  .  .  .  Company  by  company,  division  by  di 
vision,  the  gates  were  passed;  when  the  host  was 
within,  they  closed  with  a  heavy  sound.  Gate  and 
gate- towers  and  curtains  of  wralls  high  and  thick  — 
the  armed  town,  the  huge,  surmounting  castle,  looked 

232 


OUR  LADY  OF  ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

four-square  defiance  to  the  Counts  of  Montmaure^ 
Now  set  in  the  second  stage  of  this  siege. 

Montmaure  held  the  roads  to  and  from  Roche-de- 
Frene.  Montmaure  lay  as  close  as  he  might  lie  and 
escape  crossbow  bolts  and  stones  flung  by  those  en 
gines  caused  to  be  constructed  by  men  of  skill  in  the 
princess's  pay.  From  the  walls,  look  which  way  you 
might,  you  saw  the  coils  of  Montmaure.  He  lay 
glittering,  a  puissant  dragon,  impatient  to  draw  his. 
folds  nearer,  impatient  to  tighten  them  around  town 
and  castle,  strangle,  and  crush!  To  hasten  that 
final  hour  he  made  daily  assay  with  tooth  and  claw. 
Sound  of  fierce  assault  and  fierce  repulse  filled  great 
part  of  time.  The  periods  between  of  repose,  of  ex 
haustion,  of  waiting  had  —  though  men  and  women 
went  about  and  spoke  and  even  laughed  —  the  feeU 
ing  of  the  silence  of  the  desert,  a  blank  stillness. 

The  spirit  of  the  town  was  good  —  it  were  faint 
praise,  calling  it  that!  Gaucelm  the  Fortunate, 
Audiart  the  Wise,  .and  their  motto  and  practice, 
I  BUILD,  had  lifted  this  princedom  and  this  town, 
or  had  given  room  for  proper  strength  to  lift  from 
within.  Now  Thibaut  Canteleu  supported  the  prin 
cess  in  all  ways,  and  the  town  followed  Thibaut. 
Audiart  the  Wise  and  Roche-de-Frene  fought  with 
a  single  will.  And  Bishop  Ugo  made  attestation  that 
he  wished  wholly  the  welfare  of  all.  He  preached  in 
the  cathedral;  he  passed  through  the  town  with  a 
train  of  churchmen  and  blessed  the  citizens  as  they 
hurried  to  the  walls;  he  mounted  to  the  castle  and 

233 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

gave  his  counsel  there.  The  princess  listened,  then 
went  her  way. 

Lords,  knights,  and  squires,  the  chivalry  of  Roche- 
de-Frene,  was  hers.  They  liked  a  woman  to  be  lion- 
hearted,  and  they  forgot  the  old  name  that  had  been 
given  her.  Perhaps  it  was  no  longer  applicable,  per 
haps  it  had  never,  in  any  high  degree,  been  appli 
cable.  Perhaps  there  had  been  some  question  of  fash 
ion,  and  a  beauty  not  answered  to  by  the  eyes  of 
many  beholders,  a  thing  of  spirit,  mind,  and  rarity. 
Her  vassals,  great  and  less  great,  gave  her  devout 
service;  they  trusted  her,  warp  and  woof.  She  had 
a  genius  and  a  fire  that  she  breathed  into  them  and 
that  aided  to  heroic  deeds. 

Garin  of  the  Golden  Island  did  high  things  in  the 
siege  of  Roche-  de-Fr£ne.  Where  almost  all  were 
brave,  where  each  day  deeds  resounded,  he  grew  to 
have  a  name  here  for  exquisiteness  of  daring  as  he 
had  had  it  in  the  land  beyond  the  sea.  .  .  .  He  found 
himself,  in  one  of  those  periods  of  stillness  between 
assaults,  alone  by  the  watch-tower  above  the  castle 
garden.  He  had  left  Aimar  at  the  barbican,  Rainier 
he  had  sent  upon  some  errand.  It  was  nearing  sun 
set,  and  the  trees  in  the  garden  had  an  autumn  tint. 
The  year  wheeled  downward. 

Garin,  mounting  the  watch-tower,  found  upon  the 
summit  a  mantled  figure,  leaning  against  the  bat 
tlement  overlooking  the  wide  prospect.  A  moment, 
and  he  saw  that  it  was  the  princess  and  would  have 
withdrawn.  But  Audiart  called  him  back.  In  the 

234 


OUR  LADY  OF   ROGHE-DE-FRENE 

garden  below  waited  a  page  and  an  attendant  of 
whom  the  princess  was  fond  —  the  dark-eyed  girl 
who  told  stories  well.  But  for  the  rest  there  held  a 
solitude.  She  had  come  from  the  White  Tower  to 
taste  this  quiet  and  to  look  afar,  to  bathe  her  senses 
in  this  stillness  after  clamour,  and  to  feel  overhead 
the  enemyless  expanse. 

"You  are  welcome,  Sir  Garin  of  the  Golden  Is 
land  ! "  she  said,  and  turned  toward  him.  "  I  watched 
you  lead  the  sally  yesterday.  No  brave  poet  ever 
made  men  more  one  with  him  than  you  did  then  —  " 

Garin  came  to  her  side,  bent  and  kissed  her  mantle 
edge  where  her  arm  brought  it  against  the  battlement. 
"Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene!"  he  said,  "watching 
you,  in  this  war,  all  men  turn  brave  and  poets." 

He  had  spoken  as  he  felt.  But,  "No!"  said  the 
Princess  Audiart.  "  No  man  turns  what  he  is  not." 
She  looked  again  at  the  wide  prospect.  "My  heart 
aches,"  she  said,  "because  of  all  the  misery!  At 
times  I  would  that  I  knew — " 

She  rested  her  brow  upon  her  hands.  The  sun 
touched  the  mountains,  jagged  and  sharp,  shaped 
long  ago  by  central  fires.  The  castle  and  town  of 
Roche-de-Frene  were  bathed  in  a  golden  light.  The 
princess  uncovered  her  eyes.  "Well!  we  travel  as 
we  may,  or  as  the  inner  will  doth  will.  —  How  long 
do  you  think  that  this  castle  will  go  untaken  by 
Montmaure?" 

"  I  think  that  it  will  go  forever  untaken  by  Mont 
maure." 

235 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

"He  is  strong  —  he  has  old  strength.  .  .  .  But  I 
came  to  the  garden  and  the  watch-tower  not  to  think 
of  that  and  of  how  the  battle  goes.  .  .  .  Look  at  the 
violet  stealing  up  from  the  plain." 

"  In  the  morning  comes  the  sun  once  more!  I  be 
lieve  in  light." 

"Yea!  so  do  I."  She  looked  from  the  cloud-shapes 
of  the  western  sky  to  the  clear  fields  of  the  east  and 
the  deeps  overhead.  Her  gaze  stayed  there  a  mo 
ment,  then  dropped,  a  slow  sailing  bird,  to  the  garden 
trees  below  the  tower,  the  late  flowers,  and  the  sun 
burned  turf.  "The  autumn  air.  ...  I  like  that  — 
have  always  liked  it.  ...  In  the  hurly-burly  of  this 
siege,  you  think  yet  of  the  Fair  Goal?" 

"Yes,  lady." 

"Listen  to  the  convent-bells!  That  is  the  Con 
vent  of  Saint  Blandina.  .  .  .  Pierol,  down  there,  has 
a  lute.  I  am  tired.  I  would  rest  for  an  hour  and  for 
get  blood  and  crying  voices.  I  would  think  of  fairer 
things.  I  would  forget  Montmaure.  Let  us  go  down 
under  the  trees,  and  I  will  listen  to  your  singing  of 
your  Fair  Goal." 

They  descended  the  tower-stair  and  came  into  the 
garden.  Here  was  a  tall  cypress  and  a  seat  beneath 
it  for  the  princess,  and  a  lower  one  f}r  the  singer. 
Pierol  gave  the  lute,  then  with  the  dark-eyed  girl 
drew  back  into  the  shade  of  myrtles.  Garin  touched 
the  strings,  but  when  he  sang  it  was  of  love  itself. 

The  Princess  Audiart  listened,  wrapped  in  her 
mantle.  When  the  song  was  ended,  "That  is  of  love 

236 


OUR  LADY  OF   ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

itself,  and  beautiful  it  was !  —  Now  sing  of  your  own 
love." 

Garin  obeyed.  When  it  was  done,  "That  is  love 
liness!"  said  the  Princess.  "This  very  moment  that 
fair  lady  has  you,  doubtless,  in  her  thought." 

"She  whom  I  sing,  lady,  and  call  the  Fair  Goal, 
has  never  seen  me.  She  knows  not  that  such  a  man 
lives." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  princess  and  turned  upon 
him.  "  You  have  seen  her  once,  and  she  has  not  seen 
you  at  all!  You  know  not  her  true  name  nor  her 
home,  and  she  knows  not  that  you  are  in  life !  Now, 
by  my  faith  — " 

She  broke  off,  sitting  staring  at  him  with  a 
strangely  vivid  face.  "I  have  heard  troubadours 
sing  of  such  loves,"  she  said  slowly,  "but  I  have  not 
believed  them.  Such  loves  seemed  neither  real,  nor 
greatly  desirable  to  be  made  real.  It  was  to  me  like 
other  pretences.  .  .  .  But  you,  Sir  Garin  of  the 
Golden  Island,  I  hold  to  be  honest  — " 

Garin  laid  the  lute  upon  the  earth  beside  him.  He 
looked  at  the  trees  of  the  garden,  and  he  seemed  to 
see  again  a  nightingale  that  flew  from  shade  to  shade 
and  sang  with  a  sweetness  that  ravished.  "  If  I  know 
my  own  heart, ' '  he  said, ' '  it  loves  with  reality ! ' '  And 
as  he  spoke  came  the  first  confusion,  strangeness, 
and  doubt,  the  first  sense  of  something  new,  or 
added.  It  was  faint  —  so  underneath  that  only  the 
palest  dawn-light  of  it  came  over  the  horizon  of  the 
mind  —  so  far  and  speechless  that  Garin  knew  not 

237 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

what  it  was,  only  divined  that  something  was  there. 
Whatever  recognition  occurred  was  of  something  not 
unpleasing,  something  that,  were  it  nearer,  might  be 
known  for  wealth.  Yet  there  was  an  admixture  of 
pain  and  doubt  of  himself.  He  fell  silent,  faint  lines 
between  his  brows. 

The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  likewise  sat  with 
out  speaking.  A  colour  was  in  her  cheek  and  her 
eyes  had  strange  depths.  There  was  softness  in  them, 
but  also  force  and  will.  She  looked  a  being  with 
courage  to  name  her  ends  to  herself  and  power  to 
reach  them. 

The  dusk  was  coming,  the  small  winged  creatures 
that  harboured  in  the  castle  garden  were  at  their 
vesper  chirping.  The  page  Pierol  and  the  dark-eyed 
girl  whispered  among  the  myrtles. 

The  princess  rose.  "  I  am  not  so  tired  nor  so  mel 
ancholy  now!  I  thank  you  for  your  singing,  Sir 
Garin." 

"I  would,  my  princess,"  answered  Garin,  "that, 
like  the  singers  of  old,  I  might  build  walls  where  they 
are  broken!  I  would  that,  with  armed  hand,  I  might 
bring  you  victory!" 

"One  paladin  alone  no  longer  does  that,"  said 
Audiart.  "  If  we  win,  we  all  have  part  —  you  and 
Sir  Aimar  and  Lord  Stephen,  for  whom  I  grieve,  and 
all  the  valiant  chivalry  and  those  who  fight  afoot. 
And  Thibaut  Canteleu  and  every  brave  townsman. 
And  the  women  who  are  so  brave,  ready  and  con 
stant.  And  the  children  who  hush  their  crying.  All 

238 


OUR  LADY   OF   ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

have  part  —  all !  Account  must  be  taken,  too,  of  my 
father's  jester,  who,  the  other  day,  penned  a  cartel 
to  Montmaure.  He  tied  it  to  an  arrow  and  shot  it 
from  the  point  of  highest  danger.  And  it  was  a  scul 
lion  who  threw  down  the  ladder  from  the  northern 
wall.  All  share.  The  value  is  in  each !" 

"And  you,  my  Lady  Audiart,  have  you  no  part ? " 

"I  take  account  of  myself  as  well.  Yes,  I,  too, 
have  part." 

She  turned  her  face  toward  the  myrtles.  "Come, 
Pierol  —  Maeut!"  then  spoke  again  to  Garin  of  the 
Golden  Island.  "It  seems  to  me  sad  that  the  Fair 
Goal,  whoever  she  be,  wherever  she  bides,  should 
know  naught  of  you !  Did  you  perish  to-morrow  in 
Roche-de-Frene,  her  tears  would  not  flow.  If  she 
were  laughing,  her  laughter  would  not  break.  No 
sense  of  loss  where  is  no  sense  of  possession!  This 
siege  never  threats  her  happiness  —  so  little  do  you 
know  of  each  other! "  Her  voice  had  a  faint  note  of 
scorn,  with  something  else  that  could  not  be  read. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Garin,  and  was  once  more 
conscious  of  that  appeal  beyond  the  horizon,  under 
seas.  He  felt  that  there  had  been  some  birth,  and 
that  it  was  a  thing  not  unsweet  or  passionless.  It 
seemed  other  than  aught  that  had  come  before  into 
his  life.  And  yet,  immediately,  he  saw  again  and 
loved  again  the  inaccessible,  veiled  figure,  the 
traveller  from  far  away,  —  it  had  fixed  itself  in  his 
mind  that  she  was  a  traveller  from  far  away,  —  the 
lady  who  had  been  the  guest  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt ! 

239 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

He  loved,  he  thought,  more  strongly,  if  that  might 
be,  than  before.  And  again  came  the  note  of  pain 
and  bewilderment.  ''It  is  true,  my  princess!  And 
still  I  think  that  in  some  hidden  way  —  hidden  to 
her  and  to  me  —  she  knows  and  answers! "  He  took 
the  lute  from  the  grass  and  drew  from  it  a  deep  and 
thrilling  strain.  "So,"  he  said,  "is  the  thought  of 
her  among  my  heart-strings." 

The  princess  drew  her  mantle  about  her.  "Let 
us  go,"  she  said.  "To-night  I  hold  council.  There 
is  a  thing  that  must  be  decided,  whether  to  do  it  or 
not  to  do  it." 

They  left  the  garden,  Maeut  and  Pierol  following. 

Garin  was  not  among  the  barons  and  the  knights 
in  the  great  hall  when  the  council  was  held.  He 
might  have  been  so,  but  he  chose  absence.  The 
castle  was  so  vast  —  there  were  so  many  buildings 
within  the  ring  of  its  wall  —  that  it  lodged  a  host. 
He,  with  Aimar,  their  squires  and  men-at-arms,  had 
quarters  toward  the  northern  face.  Here  he  came, 
there  being  a  half  moon,  and  all  the  giant  place  in 
black  and  silver.  But  he  did  not  enter  his  lodging  or 
call  to  Aimar  or  to  Rainier.  He  went  on  to  where  a 
wooden  stair  was  built  against  the  wall.  Here  stood 
a  sentinel  to  whom  he  gave  the  word,  then,  passing, 
climbed  the  stair.  At  the  top  was  space  where 
twenty  might  stand,  and  a  catapult  be  worked. 
Here,  too,  a  soldier  kept  guard.  Garin  gave  him 
good-evening,  and  the  man  recognized  him. 

"Sir  Garin  of  the  Black  Castle,  I  was  behind  you 
240 


OUR  LADY  OF   ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

in  the  sally  yesterday!  Thumb  of  Saint  Lazarus! 
yonder  was  enough  to  make  dead  blood  leap!" 

Garin  gave  him  answer,  then  crossed  to  the  bat 
tlements,  and  leaning  his  folded  arms  upon  the 
stone,  looked  forth  into  the  night.  This  angle  of  the 
castle  turned  from  the  crowded  town.  The  wall  was 
built  on  sheer  rock,  and  below  the  rock  was  the 
moat;  beyond  the  moat  rose  scattered  houses,  and 
then  the  ultimate  strong  wall  enclosing  all,  town  and 
castle  alike.  And  below,  on  the  plain,  was  Mont- 
maure,  islanding  Roche-de-Frene. 

The  autumn  air  struck  cool.  Montmaure  had 
camp-fires  flaring  here  and  flaring  there,  making  red- 
gold  blurs  in  the  night.  Garin,  watching  these,  came, 
full-force,  upon  an  awareness  of  fresh  misliking  for 
Montmaure  —  for  Jaufre  de  Montmaure;  misliking 
so  strong  that  it  came  close  to  hatred.  He  had  mis- 
liked  him  before,  calling  him  private  no  less  than 
public  foe.  But  that  feeling  had  been  tame  to  this. 

The  inner  atmosphere  thickened  and  darkened. 
Could  he  have  forged  material  lightning,  Jaufre 
might  then  have  perished.  He  stood  staring  at  the 
red  flare  upon  the  horizon.  His  lips  moved.  ' '  Jaufre, 
Jaufre!  would  you  have  the  princess?" 

The  autumn  wind  blew  against  him.  Overhead, 
the  moon  came  out  from  clouds  and  blanched  the 
platform  where  he  stood  and  the  long  line  of  the  wall. 
He  turned,  and  looking  to  the  huge  castle,  saw  the 
rays  silver  the  White  Tower.  He  knew  that  this  was 
where  the  princess  lived.  Hate  went  out  of  Garin's 

241 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

heart  and  out  of  his  eyes.  "What  is  this,"  he  cried, 
but  not  aloud,  "what  is  this  that  has  come  to  me?" 

He  stayed  a  long  while  on  the  platform,  that  was 
now  in  light  and  now  in  shadow,  for  the  sky  had 
fleets  of  clouds.  But  at  last  he  said  good-night  to  the 
pacing  sentinel,  and,  descending  the  stair,  went  to 
his  lodging.  Here,  before  the  door,  watched  one  of 
his  own  men.  "Has  Sir  Aimar  returned,  Jean  the 
Talkative?" 

"  No,  lord,"  said  Jean  from  Castel-Noir.  "He sent 
to  find  you,  but  no  one  knew  where  —  It  seems  that 
all  the  lords  and  famous  knights  have  been  called 
into  hall.  Moreover,  there  are  townsmen  in  the 
great  court,  and  the  mayor  is  inside  with  the  lords. 
The  bishop  came  up  the  hill  at  supper-time  with  a 
long  train.  There  was  a  monk  here,  an  hour  agone, 
who  said  that  there  had  been  a  miracle  down  there 
in  the  cathedral.  One  Father  Eustace,  who  is  very 
holy,  was  kneeling  before  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,  and  he  put  up  his  hands  to  her,  like  a  child  to 
his  mother,  and  he  said  'Blessed,  Divine  Lady,  when 
will  Roche-de-Frene  have  peace  and  happiness?' 
Then,  lord,  what  favour  was  granted  to  the  holy 
man!  Our  Lady's  lips  opened  smilingly,  and  words 
came  out  of  them  in  a  sweet  and  gracious  voice,  to 
this  effect:  'When  those  two  wed.'  Holy  Eustace  fell 
in  a  swoon,  so  wonderful  was  the  thing,  and  when  he 
came  to  went  to  my  lord  the  bishop.  Whereupon  — ' ' 

But,  "Talk  less,  Jean  —  talk  less! "  said  Sir  Garin, 
and  went  by,  leaving  Jean  staring.  Within  the 

242 


OUR  LADY  OF  ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

house,  stretched  upon  the  floor  of  the  great  lower 
room,  lay  his  men  asleep.  They  needed  sleep ;  all  in 
Roche-de-Frene  knew  the  strain  of  watching  over 
time,  of  fighting  by  day  and  by  night.  Two  only 
whispered  in  a  corner,  by  a  guttering  candle.  These 
springing  up  as  Garin  entered  proved  to  be  Rainier 
and  the  younger  squire  of  Aimar,  the  elder  being 
with  his  master.  "Stay  till  I  call  you,"  said  Garin 
to  Rainier,  and  passing  between  the  slumbering 
forms,  ascended  the  stair  to  the  chamber  above. 
Here,  before  a  small  window  was  drawn  a  bench. 
He  sat  down,  and  looked  forth  at  the  moon  passing 
from  cloud  to  cloud. 

Eight  years  ago  he,  like  Father  Eustace,  had 
knelt  before  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  asked 
for  a  sign.  ...  Of  his  age,  inevitably,  in  a  long  range 
of  concerns,  Garin  had  not  formerly  questioned 
miracles.  They  occurred  all  the  time,  sworn  to  by 
Holy  Church.  But  now,  and  passionately  enough, 
he  doubted  that  Father  Eustace  lied. 

Here,  sometime  later,  Aimar  found  him.  "Why 
did  you  not  come  to  the  hall?  Saint  Michael!  It 
had  been  worth  your  while!" 

"  I  know  not  why  I  did  not  come.  ...  I  have  been 
on  the  walls  —  I  think  that  I  have  been  struck  by 
the  moon.  .  .  .  What  was  done  in  hall?" 

Aimar  stood  beside  him.  "This  princess  —  I  have 
not  seen  another  like  her  in  the  world!" 

"She  came  from  fairy-land  and  the  wise  saints' 
land  and  the  bravest  future  land. — What  was  done  ?" 

243 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

"Have  you  heard  of  the  miracle  of  Our  Lady  of 
Roche-de-Frene?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  it.   I  do  not  believe  it." 

"Speak  low!"  said  Aimar.  "Bishop  Ugo  related 
it  with  eloquent  lips." 

"Bishop  Ugo  is  Montmaure's  man." 

"Speak  lower  yet!  .  .  .  Perchance  he  thinks  that 
Montmaure  is  his  man." 

"Perchance  he  does.  Let  them  be  each  other's. 
What  was  answered?" 

"  The  princess  rose  and  spoke.  She  said  that  there 
were  so  many  twos  in  the  world  that  we  must  re 
main  in  doubt  as  to  what  two  the  Blessed  Image 
meant." 

"Ha!"  cried  Garin,  and  laughed  out. 

"So,"  said  Aimar,  "did  we  all  —  barons,  knights, 
and  no  less  a  soul  than  Thibaut  Canteleu.  But  the 
bishop  looked  darkly." 

"No  doubt  Father  Eustace  will  presently  be 
vouchsafed  an  explanation !  —  Light  wed  darkness, 
and  Heaven  approve !  —  Ha !  what  then,  is  Heaven?  " 

"But  then  Ugo  became  smooth  and  fine,  and 
wove  a  sweet  garland  of  words  for  the  wise  princess. 
And  so,  for  this  time,  that  passed.  —  Came  that 
which  the  council  had  been  called  to  judge  of. 
Heralds  from  Montmaure,  appearing  this  morning 
before  the  river-gate,  asking  for  parley,  were  blind 
folded  and  brought  to  her  in  hall." 

Garin  turned.  "  What  said  Jauf  rede  Montmaure?" 

"What  is  wrong  with  you,  Garin  of  the  Golden 
244 


OUR   LADY   OF   ROCHE-DE-FRENE 

Island?  Heaven  forfend  your  sickening  with  the 
fever!  —  Montmaure  offers  a  truce  from  sunrise  to 
sunrise,  offers,  moreover,  to  pitch  pavilions  two  bow 
shots  from  the  walls.  Then,  saith  the  two  of  him,  — 
or  rather  saith  Jaufre  with  a  supporter  signed  by 
Count  Savaric,  —  then  let  this  be  done !  Let  the 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene,  followed  by  fifty 
knights,  and  Count  Jaufre  de  Montmaure,  followed 
by  fifty,  meet  with  courtesy  and  festival  before  these 
pavilions  —  the  end,  the  coming  face  to  face,  the 
touching  hands,  the  speaking  together  of  two  who 
never  yet  have  had  that  fortune.  So,  perchance,  a 
different  music  might  arise!" 

"How  might  that  be?  Her  soul  does  not  accord 
with  his."  Garin  left  the  window,  paced  the  room, 
came  back  to  the  flooding  moonlight.  "What  said 
the  princess?" 

"She  gave  to  all  in  hall  the  words  of  the  heralds 
and  asked  for  counsel.  Then  this  baron  spoke  and 
that  knight  and  also  Thibaut  Canteleu,  and  they 
spoke  like  valiant  folk,  one  advising  this  course  and 
one  that.  And  Bishop  Ugo  spoke.  Then  the  prin 
cess  stood  up,  thanked  all  and  gave  decision." 

"She  will  take  her  knights,  and  with  courtesy  and 
festival  she  will  meet  and  touch  hands  and  speak 
with  Jaufre,  there  by  his  pavilions?" 

"Just,"  said  Aimar.  .  .  .  "Do  you  know,  Garin, 
that  when  you  make  poems  of  the  Fair  Goal,  you 
make  men  see  a  lady  not  unlike  the  princess  of  this 
land?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

COUNT   JAUFRE 

THE  day  was  soft  and  bright,  neither  hot  nor  cold, 
and  at  the  mid-morning.  Half-way  between  the 
walls  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  the  host  of  Montmaure, 
in  a  space  clear  of  any  cover  that  might  be  used  for 
ambushes,  rose  a  blue  pavilion,  a  green  and  silver 
pavilion,  and  one  between  that  carried  these  colours 
blended.  Before  the  blue  pavilion  hung  a  banner 
with  a  blue  field  and  the  arms  of  Roche-de-Frene, 
before  the  green  and  silver  Montmaure's  banner; 
before  the  third  pavilion  the  two  ensigns  were  fixed 
side  by  side.  Those  who  had  pitched  the  pavilions 
and  made  lavish  preparation  were  servants  of  Mont 
maure.  Montmaure  was  the  host  this  day.  Led  blind 
fold  into  Roche-de-Frene,  through  the  streets  and 
in  at  the  castle  gate,  had  gone  four  great  barons, 
hostages  for  the  green  and  silver's  faith. 

A  trumpet  sounded  from  the  town.  A  trumpet 
answered  for  Montmaure.  The  Princess  of  Roche- 
de-Frene  rode  through  the  gates  upon  her  white 
Arabian.  Behind  her  came  two  ladies,  Guida  and 
Maeut,  and  after  these  rode  fifty  knights.  All  wound 
down  the  hillside  that  was  pitted  and  scarred  and 
strewn  with  many  a  battle  token.  To  meet  them, 
started  from  the  tented  plain  fifty  knights  of  Mont- 

246 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

maure,  and  at  their  head  Count  Jaufre.  Count 
Savaric,  it  was  known,  suffered  yet  at  times  with  the 
wound  he  had  got  in  the  spring  from  Stephen  the 
Marshal.  It  seemed  that  it  was  so  in  the  week  of 
this  meeting.  He  was  laid  in  his  tent  in  the  hands 
of  his  leech.  But  by  cry  of  herald  he  had  made 
known  that  his  son's  voice  and  presence  were  his 
own.  The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  would  meet 
in  Count  Jaufre  no  less  a  figure  than  the  reigning 
count.  Thus  Jaufre  rode  alone  at  the  head  of  the 
fifty  knights. 

He  rode  a  great  steed  caparisoned  as  for  a  royal 
tourney.  He  himself  wore  mail  beneath  a  surcoat 
of  the  richest  samite,  but  he  had  embroidered  gloves, 
not  battle  gauntlets,  and  in  place  of  helmet  a  cap 
sewn  with  gems  and  carrying  an  eagle  feather.  The 
one  train  came  down  the  hill,  the  other  crossed  the 
level,  over  burned,  and  trodden  earth.  The  two  met 
with  fanfare  of  trumpets  and  caracoling  of  steeds 
and  chivalrous  parade,  close  at  hand  the  coloured 
pavilions,  overhead  the  sapphire  sky,  around  the 
breath  of  autumn. 

Jaufre  sprang  from  his  courser,  hastened  to  the 
Arabian  and  would  aid  the  princess  to  dismount.  He 
swept  his  cap  from  his  head.  Red-gold  locks  and 
hawk  nose,  and  on  the  right  cheek  a  long  scar,  curi 
ously  shaped.  .  .  .  The  Princess  Audiart  sat  very 
still  upon  her  white  Arabian.  Then  she  smiled,  dis 
mounted,  and  gave  Jaufre  de  Montmaure  her 
gloved  hand. 

247 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Jaufre  was  adept,  when  he  so  chose,  in  courtoisie. 
He  had  learned  the  value  and  the  practice  of  it  in 
Italy,  and  learned,  in  his  fellowship  with  Richard 
Lion-Heart,  to  temper  it  with  the  cool  snow  of  ex 
altation  and  poetry  —  or  to  seem  to  temper  it. 
Richard  truly  did  so.  To-day  this  one  acre  of  earth 
was  a  court,  and  he  was  prepared  to  behave  to  the 
ruler  of  Roche-de-Frene  as  to  a  fair  woman  who 
chanced  to  be  high-born.  All  the  past  fighting 
should  be  treated  with  disdain  as  a  lovers'  quarrel! 
Count  Jaufre  had  chosen  a  r61e,  and  practised  it  in 
his  mind,  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips.  He  did  not  for 
get,  nor  did  he  wish  the  princess  to  forget,  how  much 
stronger  was  the  host  of  Montmaure,  and  that  the 
siege  must  end  in  humbling  for  Roche-de-Frene  and 
victory  for  Montmaure.  Male  strength  —  male 
strength  was  his !  He  was  prepared  to  show  his  con 
sciousness  of  that.  He  had  had  lovers'  quarrels 
before — he  could  not  remember  how  many.  He  re 
membered  with  complacence  that  —  usually  —  the 
other  side  had  come  to  its  knees.  If  the  other  side 
had  given  him  much  trouble,  made  him  angry,  he 
then  repaid  it.  That  was  what  was  going  to  happen 
here.  But,  to-day,  joy  and  courtesies  and  the  gai 
science!  Show  this  Audiart  the  Wise  the  lord  she 
thought  she  could  refuse!  So  he  met  the  princess, 
curled,  pressed,  and  panoplied  with  courtliness.  He 
out-poetized  the  poets,  beggared  the  goddesses  of 
attributes.  He  strewed  painted  flowers  before  the 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene,  then,  his  count's  cap 

248 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

again  upon  his  head,  led  her  over  the  battle-cleansed 
space  to  the  three  pavilions. 

Her  ladies  followed  her.  The  hundred  knights, 
dismounting,  fraternized.  The  air  was  sweet;  over 
high-built  town  and  castle,  sweep  of  martial 
plain,  cloud-like  blue  mountains,  sprang  a  serenest 
roof  of  heaven.  The  knights  gave  mutual  enmity 
a  day's  holiday,  and,  having  done  a  good  deed, 
gained  thereupon  a  line  in  stature.  Many  of  them 
knew  one  another,  name  and  appearance  and  fame. 
They  had  encountered  in  tourney,  in  hall  and  bower, 
and  in  battle.  Fortune  had  at  times  ranged  them  on 
the  same  side. .  A  fair  number  wore  the  sign  of  the 
crusader.  Under  either  banner  were  famous  knights. 
The  time  craved  fame  and  worshipped  it.  War,  love, 
song,  and  —  the  counter-pole  —  asceticism  were 
your  trodden  roads  to  fame.  Now  and  then  one 
reached  it  by  a  path  just  perceptible  in  the  wilder 
ness;  but  more  fell  in  striving  to  make  such  a 
path.  There  were  famous  knights  among  the  hun 
dred,  and  by  this  time  none  more  famed  than  Garin 
of  Castel-Noir,  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  Sir 
Aimar  de  Panemonde  was  as  brave,  but  Garin  was 
troubadour  no  less  than  knight,  and  about  what  he 
did,  in  either  way,  dwelt  a  haunting  magic. 

Montmaure  led  the  princess  to  the  blue  pavilion. 
It  was  hers,  with  her  ladies,  to  refresh  herself  therein. 
He  himself  crossed  to  the  green  and  silver,  drank 
wine,  and  looked  forth  upon  the  mingling  of  knights. 
"Let  us  see,"  ran  his  thought,  "the  jade's  choice!" 

249 


THE   FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

He  saw  valiant  men,  known  afar,  or  come  in  this 
siege  to  their  kind's  admiration.  "Ha!"  he  said  to 
Guiraut  of  the  Vale  who  stood  beside  him.  "She 
knows  how  to  cull  her  garden!"  . 

"She  has  more  mind,  lord,  than  a  woman  should 
have!" 

He  thought  to  please  Count  Jaufre,  what  he  said 
differing  not  at  all  from  what  he  had  heard  his  lord 
say.  But  Jaufre  frowned.  Reckoning  the  princess 
his  own,  it  was  not  for  a  vassal  to  speak  slightingly! 
A  shifting  of  the  knights  took  place.  It  brought  into 
view  one  whom  Montmaure  had  not  earlier  seen. 
"Eye  of  God!  will  she  bring  that  devil  with  her?" 

Guiraut  followed  the  pointing  finger.  ' '  That  is  the 
crusader  and  troubadour,  Garin  de  Castel-Noir." 

"Devil  and  double-devil!"  burst  forth  Jaufre. 
'"When  I  take  Roche-de-Frene,  woe  to  you,  devil! 
I  hope  you  be  not  slain  before  that  day!" 

The  blood  was  in  his  face,  his  eyes  narrowed  to  a 
slit,  his  red-gold  locks  seemed  to  quiver.  Another 
movement  of  knights  in  the  giant  cluster,  and  Garin 
was  hid  from  his  sight.  He  turned  and  drank  again, 
with  an  effort  composed  his  countenance  and,  a 
signal  being  given,  left  his  pavilion.  At  the  same 
moment  the  princess  quitted  the  blue;  they  came 
together  to  the  great  pavilion  of  the  blended  colours 
and  the  two  banners.  Here,  beneath  a  canopy,  were 
chairs,  with  a  rich  carpet  for  the  feet.  Jaufre  had 
provided  music,  which  played,  —  not  loudly,  nor 
so  as  to  trouble  their  parley. 

250 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

The  princess  had  a  robe  of  brown  samite,  with  a 
mantle  of  the  same;  but  over  the  robe,  in  place  of 
silken  bliaut,  she  wore  fine  chain-mail,  and  in  a 
knight's  belt  of  worked  leather,  a  rich  dagger.  Her 
braided  hair  was  fastened  close,  with  silver  pins, 
beneath  a  light  morion.  She  sat  down,  looked  at 
Jaufre  opposite.  "  In  this  war,  my  lord,  we  have  not 
met  so  near  before." 

"Never  have  we  met,  princess,  so  near  before!'* 
He  bent  toward  her,  warm,  red-gold,  and  mighty. 
This  meeting  was  for  condescension,  grace,  spring 
touches  in  autumn!  He  found  her  face  not  so  bad, 
better  much  than  long-ago  rumour  had  painted.  His 
memory  carried  pictures  of  her  in  this  siege  —  upon 
her  war  horse  before  the  bridge  was  taken,  or  in  sal 
lies  from  the  gates,  in  a  night-time  surprise,  by  the 
flare  of  torches,  or  upon  the  walls,  above  the  storm 
ing  parties.  But  he  had  seen  her  somewhat  dis 
tantly,  never  so  close  as  this.  That  was  the  inward 
reason  why  he  had  urged  this  meeting :  he  wished  to 
see  her  close.  He  felt  the  stirring  of  a  thwart  desire. 
He  wished  to  embrace  —  since  that  was  what  she 
refused  —  and  to  crush.  He  could  admire  the  cour 
age  in  her  —  he  had  courage  himself,  though  little 
did  he  know  of  magnanimity.  "We  should  have 
met,"  he  said,  "before  we  went  to  war!" 

Audiart  regarded  him  with  a  stilly  look.  "Per 
haps,  my  lord,  we  should  have  warred  where'er  we 
met.  —  It  has  been  eight  years  since  you  came  from 
Italy." 

251 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

11  Eight  years.  —  Eye  of  God !  they  have  been  full 
years ! ' ' 

"Yes.  Each  has  been  an  ocean.  I  remember,  it 
was  near  this  season." 

Jaufre's  brows  bore  a  marking  of  surprise.  "Tell 
me  why  you  hold  that  year  in  memory  — •" 

The  princess  sat  with  a  faint  smile  upon  her  face, 
her  eyes  upon  the  world  beyond  the  canopy.  The 
latter  stretched  but  overhead ;  the  hillside,  the  town, 
the  tented  plain  were  visible,  and  in  the  foreground 
the  company  of  knights  where  they  were  gathered 
beneath  olive  and  almond  trees. 

"That  year,  my  lord  count,  I  first  saw  your  father, 
the  'great  count.'  The  prince  my  father  made  a 
tourney  in  honour  of  a  guest  who,  like  you,  my  lord, 
sought  a  bride.  And  by  chance  there  came  riding  by 
Roche-de-Frene  —  that  you  must  know,  my  lord, 
gave  always  frank  welcome  to  neighbours  —  Count 
Savaric  of  Montmaure.  My  father  gave  him  good 
welcome,  and  also  my  step-dame,  Madame  Alazais, 
and  myself,  and  he  sat  with  us  and  watched  the 
knights  joust.  .  .  .  There  is  where  you  come  in,  my 
lord!  One  asked  why  you  were  not  with  Count 
Savaric,  for  it  was  known  that  you  had  lately  come 
back  to  Montmaure  from  Italy."  She  turned  her 
eyes  upon  him  and  smiled  again.  "I  remember  al 
most  Count  Savaric's  words!  'My  son,'  he  said, 
'would  go  a-hunting!  Giving  chase  to  a  doe,  he  out 
stripped  his  men.  Then  burst  from  a  thicket  a 
young  wolf  which  attacked  him  and  tore  his  side. 

252 


COUNT   JAUFRE 

He  cannot  yet  sit  his  horse.  I  have  left  him  at 
Montmaure  where  he  studies  chivalry,  and  makes, 
I  doubt  not,  chansons  for  princesses." 

The  blood  flooded  Montmaure's  brow  and  cheek. 
He  stared,  not  at  the  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene, 
but  forth  upon  the  train  of  knights.  "'Eye  of  God ! " 
he  breathed.  "That  wolf—!  Eye  of  God!" 

"My  lord  count,"  said  the  princess,  "did  you 
afterwards  hunt  down  and  kill  the  wolf?  I  never 
heard  —  and  I  have  always  wished  to  hear." 

"No!  He  ran  free!  Heart  of  Mahound —!" 

Light  played  over  the  princess's  face,  but  Jaufre, 
choking  down  the  thought  of  the  wolf,  did  not  note 
it.  He  opened  his  lips  to  speak  further  of  that  eight- 
years-past  autumn,  thus  brought  up  by  chance,  and 
of  the  wolf ;  then  thought  better  of  it.  As  for  Audiart, 
she  thought,  "Vengeful  so  toward  a  poor  squire  who 
but  once,  and  long  ago,  crossed  his  evil  will!  Then 
what  might  Roche-de-Frene  hope  for?" 

Jaufre,  regaining  command  of  himself,  signalled 
for  wine.  A  page  brought  rich  flagons  upon  a  rich 
salver.  Jaufre  filled  a  cup,  touched  it  with  his  lips, 
offered  it  to  the  princess.  He  was  growing  cool  again, 
assured  as  before.  There  was  flattery,  in  her  recall 
ing  the  moment  of  his  return  from  Italy,  in  her  re 
membering,  across  the  years,  each  word  that  had 
been  spoken  of  him! 

She  took  the  cup  —  he  noted  how  long  and  finely 
shaped  were  the  fingers  that  closed  upon  it  — 
and  drank,  then,  smiling,  set  it  down.  "That  is  a 

253 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

generous  wine,  my  lord  —  a  wine  for  good  neigh 
bours!" 

"  It  is  not  a  wine  of  Montmaure  but  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,"  said  Jaufre.  "Save  indeed  that,  as  I  have 
taken  the  fields  that  grew  the  grapes  and  the  town 
that  sold  the  wine,  it  may  be  said,  princess,  to  be  of 
Montmaure!" 

Audiart  the  Wise  sat  silent  a  moment,  her  eyes 
upon  her  foe.  She  was  there  because  the  need  of 
Roche-de-Frene  sucked  at  her  heart.  But  she  knew 
—  she  knew  —  that  it  would  not  avail !  Yet  she 
spoke,  low,  deep  and  thrillingly.  "My  lord,  my 
lord,  why  should  we  fight?  Truth  my  witness,  if 
ever  I  wished  Montmaure  harm,  I  '11  now  unwish  it! 
Do  you  so,  my  lord,  toward  Roche-de-Frene!  This 
sunny,  autumn  day  —  if  we  were  at  peace,  how 
sweet  it  were!  This  land  garlanded,  and  Mont 
maure  —  and  men  and  women  faring  upward  — 
and  anger,  hate,  and  greed  denied  —  and  common 
good  grown  dearer,  nearer!  Ah,  my  Lord  Count 
Jaufre,  lift  this  siege,  and  win  a  knightlier,  lordlier 
name  than  warring  gives  — " 

Jaufre  broke  in.  "Are  marriage  bells  ringing  in 
your  pleading,  my  princess?  If  they  ring  not,  all 
that  is  said  says  naught!" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  steadfast  face.  "  Marriage 
bells?  .  .  .  Give  me  all  that  is  in  your  mind,  my  lord." 

Jaufre  drank  again.  "  Marriage  bells  ringing  over 
our  heads  where  we  stand  in  the  Church  of  Saint 
Eustace  in  Montmaure." 

254 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

"In  Montmaure.  .  .  .  Did  you  and  I  wed,  my 
lord,  I  must  come  to  you  in  Montmaure?" 

"  So !  I  will  give  you  escort  —  a  thousand  spears. ' ' 

' '  And  Roche-de-Frene  ?— and  Roche-de-Frene— ' ' 

"As  I  may  conceive,"  said  Jaufre,  "dealing  with 
my  own." 

The  princess  sat  very  still.  Only  her  eyes  moved, 
and  they  looked  from  Count  Jaufre  to  the  walled 
town  and  back  again.  Montmaure  had  pushed  back 
his  seat.  He  sat  propping  his  chin  with  his  hand, 
his  hot  gaze  upon  her.  "Roche-de-Frene,"  she  said 
at  last, —  "Roche-de-Frene  would  have  no  guar 
anty?" 

"Eye  of  God!"  answered  Jaufre.  "I  will  not 
utterly  destroy  what  comes  to  me  in  wedlock !  What 
interest  would  that  serve?  It  shall  feel  scourges,  but 
I  shall  not  tumble  each  stone  from  its  fellow!  Take 
that  assurance,  princess!" 

She  sat  silent.  "After  all,"  said  her  thought, 
"you  have  only  what  you  knew  you  would  get!" 
WTithin  she  knew  grim  laughter,  even  a  certain  re 
lief.  Would  she  sacrifice  or  would  she  not,  no  good 
would  come  from  Montmaure  to  Roche-de-Frene! 
Then,  fight  on,  and  since  thus  it  was,  fight  with  an 
undivided  will!  Resistance  rose  as  from  sleep,  re 
freshed.  She  smiled.  "I  am  glad  that  I  came,  my 
Lord  of  Montmaure,"  she  said,  and  spoke  in  a  pure, 
limpid,  uncoloured  voice.  "Else,  hearing  from  an 
other  your  will,  I  might  not  have  believed  —  " 

" Eye  of  God!  Madame,  so  it  is! "  said  Jaufre,  and 
255 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

in  mind  heard  the  bells  of  the  Church  of  Saint 
Eustace,  and  the  shouting  in  Montmaure. 

The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  stood  up  in  her 
brown  samite,  and  sheath  of  chain-mail  and  morion 
that  reflected  the  sunbeams.  "Having  now  your 
mind,  my  lord  count,  I  will  return  to  Roche-de- 
Frene!" 

She  signed  to  her  train  that  was  watching.  The 
squires  brought  before  the  pavilion  her  white  Arabian 
and  the  palfreys  of  Guida  and  Maeut.  The  move 
ment  spread  to  the  knights  beneath  the  trees.  .  .  . 
Jaufre,  rising  also,  inwardly  turned  over  the  matter 
of  how  soon  she  had  willed  to  depart,  to  bring  short 
this  splendidly-prepared-for  visit.  That  she  would 
be  gone  from  him  and  any  further  entertainment 
displeased,  but  was  salved  by  the  thought  that  she 
was  in  flight  to  conceal  her  lowered  and  broken 
pride.  He  was  conscious  that  he  had  not  maintained 
his  intention  of  suavity,  courtoisie.  When  Richard 
was  not  there,  he  did  not  well  keep  down  the  pure 
savage.  That  talk  of  hers  of  the  "wolf"  had  poured 
oil  on  the  red  embers  of  a  score  unpaid.  That  the 
wolf  was  there  in  presence  —  that  he,  Jaufre,  did 
not  wish  to  tell  as  much  to  the  world  and  Audiart 
the  Wise,  letting  them  see  what  score  had  gone  un 
paid  —  increased  the  heat.  It  burned  within  Jaufre 
with  a  smouldering  that  threatened  flame.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  person  of  this  princess  pleased  him 
more  than  he  had  looked  for.  And  it  was  delightsome 
to  him,  the  taste  of  having  made  her  taste  him,  his 

256 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

power,  purpose,  and  mode  of  dealing!  He  felt  that 
longer  stay  would  accomplish  no  more;  he  was  not 
without  a  dash  of  the  artist.  He,  too,  signed  for  his 
great  bay  —  for  his  knights  to  prepare  to  follow 
him  from  these  gay  pavilions.  To-morrow  morn  this 
truce  would  shut  —  unless,  ere  that,  she  sent  a 
herald  with  her  plain  surrender! 

She  was  speaking,  in  the  same  crystal,  uncoloured 
voice.  "Are  you  so  sure,  my  lord,  that  you  win?  Do 
you  always  win?  What  were  we  talking  of  at  first? 
A  doe  that  escaped  from  under  your  hand,  and  a 
wolf  that  laid  you  low  in  a  forest  glade  and  went  his 
way  in  safety?  —  My  Lord  of  Montmaure,  I  defy 
you !  and  sooner  than  wed  with  you  I  with  this  dag 
ger  will  marry  Death!"  She  touched  it  where  it 
hung  at  her  belt,  moved  to  her  Arabian,  and  sprang 
to  the  saddle. 

Her  following,  though  but  a  few  had  heard  what 
passed  between  her  and  Montmaure,  saw  that  there 
was  white  wrath,  and  that  the  meeting  was  short 
ened  beyond  expectation.  Montmaure's  knights 
marked  him  no  less  —  that  suddenly  his  mood  was 
black.  All  of  either  banner  got  to  horse. 

The  veins  of  Jaufre's  brow  were  swollen.  The 
company  of  knights  forming  about  the  Princess  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  the  "wolf"  came  suddenly  into 
his  field  of  vision.  .  .  .  The  "singing  knight"  placed 
in  her  chosen  band  by  Roche-de-Frene's  princess  — 
the  "wolf"  protected  by  her  and  favoured!  Till 
that  instant  he  had  not  thought  of  them  together  — 

257 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

but  now  with  lightning  swiftness  his  fury  forged  a 
red  link  between  them.  He  did  not  reason  —  cer 
tainly  he  gave  her  no  place  in  the  forest,  eight  years 
agone  —  but  he  desired,  he  lusted  to  slay  the  one 
before  the  eyes  of  the  other !  He  thrust  out  a  clenched 
hand,  he  spoke  with  a  thickened  voice.  Whatever 
in  him  had  note  of  a  saving  quality  was  passed  by 
the  stride  of  its  opposite. 

''Ha,  my  Princess  Audiart,  that  men  call  the 
Wise!  I  will  tell  you  that  your  wisdom  will  not  save 
you  — nor  Roche-de-Frene  —  nor  yonder  knight, 
my  foe,  that  I  hold  in  loathing  and  will  yet  break 
upon  a  wheel!"  He  laughed,  sitting  his  great  bay 
horse,  and  with  a  gesture  shook  forth  vengeance. 
'To-morrow  morn,  look  to  yourselves!" 

"My  Lord  of  Montmaure,  we  shall!"  The  prin 
cess  gave  command,  the  train  from  Roche-de-Frene 
drew  away  from  the  pavilions,  the  knights  of  Mont 
maure  and  Count  Jaufre.  "Farewell,  my  lord!" 
cried  Audiart  the  Wise,  "and  for  hospitality  and 
frank  speech  much  thanks !  I  love  not  war,  but,  if 
you  will  have  it  so,  I  will  war!" 

The  trumpets  sounded.  They  who  watched  from 
the  walls  saw  the  two  trains  draw  apart  and  their 
own  come  in  order  up  the  winding  road  that  climbed 
to  the  town.  Their  own  reached  the  gates  and  en 
tered.  ...  In  the  market-place,  the  bell  having 
drawn  the  people  together,  the  princess  spoke  to 
them,  her  voice,  clear,  firm,  and  with  hint  of  depth 
beyond  depth,  reaching  the  outermost  fringing  sort. 

258 


COUNT  JAUFRE 

She  spoke  at  no  great  length  but  to  the  purpose, 
then  asked  their  mind  and  waited  to  hear  it. 

Raimon,  Lord  of  Les  Arbres,  a  great  baron,  the 
greatest  vassal  of  Roche-de-Frene  there  present, 
spoke  from  the  train  of  fifty,  speaking  for  those  lords 
and  knights  and  for  all  chivalry  in  Roche-de-Frene. 
"My  Lady  Audiart,  we  are  your  men!  Hold  your 
courage  and  we  shall  hold  ours !  There  is  not  here 
lord  nor  belted  knight  nor  esquire  who  wishes  for 
suzerain  the  Counts  of  Montmaure!  We  will  keep 
Roche-de-Frene  until  we  know  victory  or  perish!" 

The  captain  of  the  crossbowmen,  a  giant  of  a  man, 
spoke  with  a  booming  voice.  "The  sergeants,  the 
bowmen,  the  workers  of  the  machines  and  the  foot- 
soldiers  sing  Amen !  The  princess  is  a  good  princess 
and  a  noble  and  a  wise,  and  no  man  here  fails  of  his 
pay!  Montmaure  is  a  niggard  and  a  hard  lord.  We 
are  yours  to  the  end,  my  Lady  Audiart!" 

Thibaut  Canteleu  spoke  for  the  town.  "Since  the 
world  will  have  it  that  we  must  have  lords,  give  us 
your  like  for  lord,  my  Lady  Audiart !  We  know  what 
a  taken  and  sacked  town  is  when  Montmaure  takes 
and  sacks  it!  But  open  our  gates  to  him  at  his  call, 
and  what  better  would  we  get?  Long  slavery  and 
slow  pain,  and  our  children  to  begin  again  at  the  foot 
of  the  stair!  So  we  propose  to  hold  this  town,  how 
hard  it  is  to  hold  soever!" 

A  clerk,  standing  upon  the  steps  that  led  to  a 
house  door,  sent  his  voice  across  the  crowded  place. 
"I  will  speak  though  I  be  excommunicate  for  it! 

259 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

We  hear  of  the  miracle  of  Father  Eustace,  and  one 
tells  us  that  God  and  His  Mother  would  have  our 
princess  marry  Montmaure!  I  do  not  believe  that 
Father  Eustace  knows  the  will  of  God!" 

From  the  throng  came  a  deep,  answering  note,  a 
multitudinous  humming  doubt  if  Our  Lady  of 
Roche-de-Frene  had  been  truly  understood.  The 
people  looked  at  the  cathedral  tower,  and  they  looked 
at  the  castle  and  around  at  their  town,  their  houses, 
shops,  market,  and  guild-halls,  at  the  blue  sky  above 
and  at  their  princess.  The  note  sustained  itself, 
broadened  and  deepened,  became  like  the  sound  of 
the  sea,  and  said  forthright  that  whatever  had  been 
meant  by  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene,  it  was  not 
alliance  with  Montmaure! 

The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  her  train  of 
knights  rode  through  the  town  and  mounted  to  the 
castle.  Some  change  in  the  order  of  those  about  her 
brought  Garin  for  a  moment  beside  the  white  Ara 
bian.  The  princess  turned  her  head,  spoke  to  him. 
"Count  Jaufre  holds  you  in  some  especial  hatred. 
Why  is  that?" 

"  I  crossed  him  in  his  will  one  day,  long  ago.  He 
would  have  done  an  evil  thing,  and  I,  chancing  by, 
came  between  him  and  his  prey.  He  it  was  who 
caused  me  to  flee  the  land.  —  But  not  alone  for  that 
day  is  there  enmity  between  us!" 

"Ah!"  said  the  princess.  "Long  is  his  rosary  of 
ill  deeds!  Into  my  mind  to-day  comes  one  that  was 
long  ago,  and  on  a  day  like  this.  It  comes  so  clear — ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    SIEGE 

MONTMAURE  had  wooden  towers  drawn  even  with 
the  walls  of  Roche-de-Frene.  From  the  tower-heads 
they  strove  to  throw  bridges  across,  grapple  them  to 
the  battlements,  send  over  them  —  a  continuing 
stream  —  the  starkest  fighters,  beat  down  the  wall's 
defenders,  send  the  stream  leaping  down  into  the 
town  itself.  Elsewhere,  under  cover  of  huge  shield 
ing  structures,  Montmaure  mined,  burrowing  in  the 
earth  beneath  the  opposed  defences,  striving  to 
bring  stone  and  mortar  down  in  ruin,  make  a  breach 
whereby  to  enter.  Montmaure  had  Greek  fire,  and 
engines  of  power  to  cast  the  flaming  stuff  into  the 
town.  He  had  great  catapults  which  sent  stones  with 
something  of  the  force  of  cannon-balls,  and  battering 
rams  which  shook  the  city  gates.  He  had  archers  and 
crossbowmen  who  from  high-built  platforms  sent 
their  shafts  in  a  level  flight  against  the  men  of 
Roche-de-Frene  upon  the  walls.  He  had  a  huge  host 
to  throw  against  the  town  —  men  of  Montmaure, 
men,  a  great  number,  given  by  Duke  Richard.  He 
had  enough  to  fight  and  to  watch,  and  to  spare  from 
fighting  and  watching.  He  ravaged  the  country  and 
had  food. 

Roche-de-Frene  fought  with  the  wooden  towers, 
261 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

threw  down  the  grappling  hooks  and  the  bridges, 
thrust  the  stream  back,  broken  and  shattered  into 
spray.  It  sallied  forth  against  those  who  mined, 
beat  down  and  set  afire  the  shielding  structures, 
drove  from  the  field  the  sappers  at  the  walls.  It  had 
some  store  of  Greek  fire  and  used  it;  it  had  engines 
of  power  and  great  catapults  that  sent  stones  with 
something  of  the  force  of  cannon-balls  against  those 
towers  and  scaffolds  of  the  foe.  Roche-de-Frene  had 
archers  and  crossbowmen,  none  better,  who  from 
walls  and  gate-towers  sent  shafts  in  level  flights 
against  the  high  platforms,  and  in  slant  lines  against 
Montmaure  attacking  in  mass,  against  men  upon 
scaling  ladders.  It  had  men  whose  trade  was  war, 
knight  and  squire,  sergeant  and  footman,  lord  and 
Free  Companion,  —  and  men  whose  trade  was  not 
war,  but  who  now  turned  warrior,  burghers  fighting 
for  their  liberties,  their  home  and  their  work.  But 
it  had  not  the  numbers  that  had  Montmaure.  It 
knew  double-tides  of  fighting  and  watching.  It  had 
deep  wells  and  an  immemorially  strong-flowing 
spring.  But  food  was  failing  —  failing  fast!  It  had 
heroism  of  man,  woman,  and  child.  But  hunger  and 
watching  and  battle  at  last  must  wear  the  highest 
spirit  down,  or  if  not  the  spirit,  the  body  with  which 
it  is  clothed. 

It  was  late,  late  autumn  —  Saint  Martin's  sum 
mer.  The  days  that  had  passed  since  that  short 
truce  and  meeting  with  Montmaure  had  laid  shad 
ows  beneath  the  eyes  of  the  Princess  Audiart.  .  .  . 

262 


THE  SIEGE 

To-day  had  seen  heavy  fighting  and  slaughter.  Now 
it  was  night,  and  Audiart  in  the  White  Tower  knelt 
within  the  window  and  looked  forth  upon  the  castle 
buildings,  courts,  towers,  and  walls,  and  upon  the 
roofs  of  the  town,  and  the  cathedral  tower,  and 
further  to  where  showed  red  light  of  Montmaure's 
vast  encampment.  She  had  been,  through  the  day, 
upon  the  walls.  .  .  .  Her  head  sank  upon  her  arms. 
"Jesu,  and  Mother  Mary,  and  whoever  is  pitiful, 
I,  too,  am  weary  of  slaughter!  A  better  way  —  a 
better  way  — " 

She  stayed  so  for  some  minutes;  then,  lifting  her 
head,  gazed  again  into  the  night.  "Who  has  the 
key?"  she  said.  "Duke  Richard  has  the  key." 
Presently  she  stood  up,  rested  hands  upon  the  stone 
sill,  drew  a  deep  breath.  Her  lips  parted,  her  glance 
swept  the  wide  prospect,  then  lifted  to  the  stars. 
"  If  I  have  wit  enough  and  courage  enough  —  that 
might  be — "  A  colour  crept  into  her  face.  "Was 
never  a  right  way  seemed  not  at  first  most  hazard 
ous  and  strange  —  so  much  more  used  are  we  to  the 
wrong  ways!" 

She  looked  at  the  clusters  of  stars,  she  looked  at 
the  town  below  that  seemed  to  sigh  in  its  restless  and 
troubled  sleep,  she  looked  at  the  dimly  seen,  far 
mountains  behind  which  sank  the  stars.  The  cool 
autumn  air  touched  her  brow.  "Where  all  is  des 
perate,  be  more  desperate  —  and  pass!"  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  the  night.  "  I  will  do  it!" 

Morning  broke,  a  sky  of  rose  and  pearl  over 
263 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Roche-de-Frene.  The  sun  rose,  and  the  rays  came 
into  the  chamber  where  was  being  nursed  back  to 
life  and  strength  Stephen  the  Marshal.  Each  day 
now  saw  improvement;  as  the  year  ebbed,  the  vital 
force  in  him  gained.  Gaunt  and  spectre-pale,  he  yet 
left  his  bed  each  day;  arm  over  his  squire's  shoulder, 
walked  slowly  to  a  great  chair  by  the  window,  sat 
there  wrapped  in  a  furred  robe,  and  listened  to  the 
ocean  of  sound  that  now  was  Roche-de-Fre^ne. 
Sometimes  the  ocean  had  only  a  murmuring  voice, 
and  sometimes  for  long  hours  it  raged  in  storm. 
Stephen  prayed  for  patience  and  from  minute  to 
minute  sent  page  and  squire  for  news.  This  morn 
dawned  in  quiet;  yesterday,  all  day  there  had  been 
storm.  The  sun  gilded  the  court  beneath  and  the 
chapel  front,  built  at  angles  with  the  great  pile  in 
which  he  was  lodged.  He  could  hear  the  chanting 
of  the  mass.  That  was  ended,  the  sunshine  strength 
ened,  somewhere  a  trumpet  was  blown.  Stephen 
prayed  again  for  patience,  and  despatched  his 
squire  Bertran  for  authentic  tidings.  Bertran  went, 
but  presently  returned,  having  met  without  a  page 
sent  by  the  princess.  She  would  know  of  Lord 
Stephen's  health  this  morn,  and  if  he  felt  strength 
for  a  visit  from  her  and  some  talk  of  importance. 
Stephen  sent  answer  that  he  wished  for  no  greater 
cordial. 

Audiart  came,  with  her  Maeut,  who,  with  the 
squires  and  the  old  nurse,  waited  in  a  small  ante 
room.  That  which  the  princess  had  to  say  wanted 

264 


THE  SIEGE 

no  auditors  other  than  those  whom  she  chose  —  and 
for  this  matter  she  would  choose  but  few.  Stephen, 
gaunt  and  drained  of  blood,  stood  to  greet  her, 
would  not  sit  until  she  had  taken  the  chair  they  had 
placed. 

She  looked  at  him  very  kindly.  "Lord  Stephen, 
much  would  I  give  to  see  the  old  Stephen  here  — ' ' 

"Ah,  God,  madam!"  said  Stephen,  "not  here 
would  you  see  him,  but  out  there  where  they  fight 
for  Roche-de-Frene." 

"Aye,  that  is  true!" 

"  I  shall  soon  be  there,  my  Lady  Audiart  —  a  log 
here  no  longer!" 

"  Maitre  Arnaut  tells  me  that.  I  talked  with  him 
before  coming  here.  He  says  that  yet  a  few  days, 
and  you  might  take  command." 

"As  I  will,  princess,  if  you  give  it  me  —  But  no 
man  lives  who  can  better  your  leading!" 

"My  leading  or  another's,  Stephen,  our  case  is 
desperate.  The  deer  feels  the  breath  of  the  hounds. 
.  .  .  Now  listen  to  me,  and  let  not  strangeness 
startle  your  mind.  At  the  brink  of  no  further  going, 
then  it  is  that  we  fare  forth  and  go  further!" 

The  sun  rode  higher  by  an  hour  before  she  left 
Stephen  the  Marshal.  She  left  him  a  flushed,  half- 
greatly-rallied,  half-foreboding  man,  but  one  wholly 
servant  of  her  and  of  Roche-de-Frene's  great  need,, 
—  one,  too,  who  could  follow  mind  with  mind,  and 
accept  daring,  when  daring  promised  results,  with 
simplicity. 

265 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

From  this  chamber  she  went  to  the  castle-hall  and 
found  there,  awaiting  her,  Thibaut  Canteleu,  for 
whom  she  had  sent.  She  took  him  upon  the  dais,  her 
attendants  clustering  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall,  out 
of  hearing. 

"Thibaut,"  she  said,  "there  is  good  hope  that  in 
a  week  Lord  Stephen  may  take  again  his  general 
ship." 

"I  am  glad,  my  lady,"  answered  Thibaut,  "for 
Lord  Stephen,  for  't  is  weary  lying  ill  in  time  of 
war.  But  we  have  had  as  good  a  general!" 

"That  is  as  may  be  ....  Thibaut,  do  you  see 
victory  for  Roche-de-Frene?" 

Thibaut  uttered  a  short  groan.  "My  Lady 
Audiart,  the  road  is  dark  — " 

"  I  think  that  if  we  strain  to  the  uttermost  we  may 
hold  qut  yet  two  months." 

"Montmaure  could  never  do  it,  but  for  Duke 
Richard's  men!" 

"Just.  .  .  .  Thibaut,  Thibaut,  now  listen  to  me, 
and  when  you  have  heard,  speak  not  loudly!  If  this 
is  done,  it  must  slip  through  in  silence." 

She  spoke  on  for  some  moments,  her  voice  low  but 
full  of  expression,  her  eyes  upon  the  mayor.  She 
ended,  "And  I  well  believe  that  you  can  and  will 
hold  the  town  until  there  is  seen  what  comes  — ' ' 

Thibaut  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  My  Lady  Audiart, 
trust  us,  we  will!"  His  black  eyes  snapped,  a  laugh 
passed  like  a  wave  across  his  face  that  grew  ruddier. 
""By  Peter  and  Paul!  Now  and  again  in  life  I  my- 

266 


THE  SIEGE 

self  have  come  to  places  where  I  must  see  further 
than  my  fellows  and  dig  deeper,  or  they  and  I  would 
perish !  —  This  is  a  bold  thing  that  you  propose,  my 
lady,  and  may  go  to  the  left  instead  of  the  right! 
Aye!  without  doubt  Faint-Heart  would  say,  'You 
follow  marsh-fire  and  trust  weight  to  a  straw ! ' ' 

"Yes.  ...  In  the  story  of  things  what  seemed  a 
beam  has  been  found  to  be  a  straw,  and  what  seemed 
a  straw  a  beam.  May  it  be  so  this  time!  .  .  .  Now 
what  we  have  talked  of  rests  until  Lord  Stephen 
takes  command." 

A  week  of  days  and  nights  went  by,  filled  with 
a  bitter  fighting.  But  Stephen  the  Marshal  grew 
stronger,  like  the  old  iron  soldier  and  good  general 
that  he  was.  Arrived  an  evening  when  he  came  into 
hall,  walking  without  help,  and  though  gaunt  and 
pale  so  nearly  himself  that  all  rejoiced.  The  next 
day  he  mounted  horse  and  rode  beside  the  princess 
through  the  town  to  the  eastern  gate  where  was  now 
the  fiercest  fighting.  The  knights,  the  men-at-arms 
and  citizens  cried  him  welcome.  That  night  Audiart 
held  full  council.  When  morning  came  it  was 
heralded  through  Roche-de-Frene  that  the  princess 
had  made  Lord  Stephen  general  again. 

Audiart  listened  to  the  trumpets,  then  with  Maeut 
she  went  into  the  castle  garden  and  found  there 
Alazais  and  Guida.  She  sat  beside  Alazais  beneath  a 
tree  whereon  hung  yet  the  gold  leaves,  and  taking 
her  step-dame's  hand,  caressed  it.  "Come  siege,  go 
siege!"  she  said,  "you  rest  so  beauteous  — !" 

267 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

"Audiart!  Audiart!  when  is  anxiousness,  misery, 
and  fear  going  to  end  ?  And  now  they  say  that  you 
command  that  every  table  alike  be  given  less  of 
food—" 

The  princess  stroked  the  other's  wrist,  smiling 
upon  her.  "You  know  that  you  do  not  wish  bread 
taken  from  another  to  be  laid  in  your  hand!" 

"No,  I  do  not  wish  that,  but—"  The  tears  fell 
from  Alazais's  eyes.  "What  have  we  done  that  the 
world  should  turn  so  black?" 

"Be  of  cheer!"  said  Audiart.  "The  black  may 
lighten!"  She  laughed  at  her  step-dame,  and  at 
Guida's  melancholy  look.  "In  these  earthy  ways 
loss  has  its  boundary  stone  no  less  than  gain !  Who 
knows  but  that  to-day  we  turn? — Come  close, 
Guida  and  Maeut,  for  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  three,  and  want  no  other  —  no,  not  a  sparrow  — 
to  hear  me!"  She  spoke  on,  in  a  low  voice,  with  occa 
sionally  an  aiding  gesture,  Maeut  kindling  quickly, 
the  other  two  incredulous,  objecting,  resisting,  then, 
at  last,  catching,  too,  at  the  straw.  .  .  . 

That  morning  Montmaure  did  not  push  to  the 
assault.  Viewed  from  the  walls,  it  seemed  that 
the  two  counts  made  changes  in  the  disposition  of 
the  besieging  host.  Here  battalions  were  draw 
ing  closer,  here  spreading  fan-wise. 

Invest  as  closely  as  Montmaure  might,  Roche- 
de-Frene  had  gotten  out  now  a  man  and  now  a  man, 
with  a  cry  for  aid  to  the  King  of  France,  to  Toulouse 
and  others.  One  had  returned  with  King  Philip's 

268 


THE  SIEGE 

assurance  that  he  would  aid  if  he  could,  but  harassed 
by  revolts  nearer  Paris,  could  not.  Other  messengers 
had  made  no  return.  .  .  . 

To-day  there  seemed  a  redrawing  of  the  invest 
ing  lines,  a  lifting  and  pitching  afresh  of  encamp 
ments.  Roche-de-Frene,  beginning  to  know  hunger, 
saw,  too,  long  forage  trains  come  laden  to  its  enemy. 
Watching,  Roche-de-Frene  thought  justly  that 
Montmaure  might  be  meaning  to  rest  for  a  time  from 
assaults  in  which  he  lost  heavily,  heavily  —  to  rest 
from  assaults  and  lean  upon  starvation  of  his  foe. 
Famine,  famine  was  his  ally  —  famine  and  Aqui- 
taine!  It  was  the  last  that  made  him  able  to  serve 
himself  with  the  first. 

Garin,  going  toward  the  castle  from  the  town's 
eastern  gate,  heard  in  the  high  street  the  trumpet 
and  the  cadenced  notice  that  Stephen  the  Marshal, 
healed  of  his  wound,  again  commanded  for  the  prin 
cess.  The  people  cried,  ''Long  live  the  princess! 
Long  live  the  marshal!"  then,  silent  or  in  talk, 
turned  to  the  many-headed  business  of  the  day.  In 
front  of  Garin  rose  the  great  mass  of  the  cathedral, 
wonderful  against  the  November  sky. 

As  he  came  into  the  place  before  it,  there  met  him 
Pierol,  the  trusted  page  of  the  princess.  "Sir  Garin 
de  Castel-Noir,  I  was  sent  in  search  of  you!  The 
princess  wishes  to  speak  with  you  —  No,  not  this 
hour!  Two  hours  from  now,  within  the  White 
Tower." 

He  was  gone.  "Go  you,  also,"  said  Garin  to  the 
269 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

squire  Rainier.  "Or  wait  for  me  here  by  the  door. 
I  will  spend  in  the  church  one  hour  of  those  two." 
He  went  from  out  the  autumn  sunshine  into  the 
dusk  of  the  huge  interior.  An  altar-lamp  burned,  a 
star,  and  light  in  long  shafts  fell  from  the  jewel- 
hued  windows.  The  pillars  soared  and  upheld  the 
glorious  roof,  and  all  beneath  was  rich,  dim  and 
solemn.  A  few  figures  knelt  or  stood  in  nave  or  aisle. 
Garin  moved  to  where  he  could  see  the  columns 
brought  by  Gaucelm  of  the  Star  from  the  land  be 
yond  the  sea  and  set  before  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady 
of  Roche-de-Frene.  He  knelt,  then,  crossing  himself, 
rose  and  took  his  seat  at  the  base  of  a  great  supporting 
pillar.  He  rested  his  arm  upon  his  knee,  his  chin  upon 
his  hand,  and  studied  the  pavement.  He  had  not 
passed  the  columns  and  knelt  before  the  Virgin  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  because  in  his  heart  was  an  im 
pulse  of  hostility.  He  did  not  name  it,  made  haste 
to  force  it  into  limbo,  hastened  to  bow  his  head  and 
murmur  an  Ave  Maria.  Nevertheless  it  had  made 
itself  felt.  This  was  the  gemmed,  azure-clad  Queen 
who  wanted  marriage  between  Montmaure  and  the 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene!  .  .  .  But  doubtless  it 
was  not  she  —  Father  Eustace  had  slandered  her 
— •  a  lying  monk,  Heaven  knew,  was  no  such  rarity ! 
Garin  came  back  into  her  court,  but  still  he  did  not 
kneel,  and,  stretching  his  arms  to  her,  beg  her  favour 
and  some  sign  thereof,  as  he  had  done  eight  years 
ago.  He  was  a  graver  man  now,  a  deeper  poet. 
An  inner  strife  racked  him,  sitting  there  at  the 
270 


THE   SIEGE 

base  of  the  pillar,  emotion  divided  against  itself,  a 
mind  bewildered  between  irreconcilables,  a  spirit 
abashed  before  its  own  inconstancy.  One  moment 
it  was  abashed,  the  very  next  it  cried,  "But  I  am 
constant!"  Then  came  mere  aching  effort  to  bring 
old  order  out  of  this  pulsing  chaos,  and  then,  that 
slipping,  an  unreasoning,  blind  and  deaf,  poignant 
and  rich,  half  bliss,  half  pain  —  emotions  so  fused 
that  there  was  no  separating  them,  no  questioning 
or  revolt.  He  sat  there  as  in  a  world  harmonized 
—  then,  little  by  little,  reformed  itself  the  discord, 
the  question,  the  passionate  self-reproval  for  dis 
loyalty  and  the  bewildering  answering  cry  from 
some  mist- wreathed,  distance-sunken  shore,  "/  am 
not  disloyal!"  and  then  the  query  of  the  mind,  "How 
can  that  be?"  Garin  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  sat 
moveless  so  in  the  cathedral  dusk.  Within,  there 
was  vision,  though  not  yet  was  it  deep  enough.  He 
was  seeing  the  years  through  which  he  had  sung  to 
the  Fair  Goal. 

The  time  went  by.  He  dropped  his  hands,  rose, 
and  after  a  genuflection  left  the  great  church. 
Without,  Rainier  joined  him.  Together  they  climbed 
the  steepening  street,  crossed  the  castle  moat,  and 
entering  between  Lion  and  Red  Towers,  went  to  the 
building  that  lodged  De  Panemonde  and  Castel-Noir. 
Thence,  presently,  fresh  of  person  and  attire,  he 
came  alone,  and  alone  crossed  courts  and  went 
through  rooms  and  echoing  passage-ways  and  by  the 
castle  garden  until  he  came  to  the  White  Tower. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   WHITE   TOWER 

UPON  the  wide  steps  that  led  to  the  door  he  found 
Pierol,  who,  turning,  went  before  him  through  a  hall 
or  general  room  to  a  flight  of  stone  steps  winding 
upward.  From  this  he  was  brought  into  a  small 
room  where  were  ladies  and  pages.  Pierol,  motioning 
to  him  to  wait,  vanished  through  an  opposite  door, 
then  in  a  moment  reappeared.  Garin,  answering  his 
sign,  went  forward  and,  passing  beneath  the  lintel, 
found  himself  in  the  princess's  chamber. 

She  sat  beside  a  table  placed  for  the  better  light 
before  the  southern  window.  She  had  been  writing; 
as  she  looked  up,  the  light  behind  her  made  a  kind  of 
aureole  for  her  head  and  long  throat  and  slender, 
energetic  form.  "Give  you  good  day,  Sir  Garin  de 
Castel-Noir!"  She  nodded  to  Pierol  and  the  girl 
Maeut,  who  left  the  room.  Near  her  stood  a  middle- 
aged,  thin,  scholarly-appearing  man  in  a  plain  dress 
—  her  secretary,  Master  Bernard.  She  spoke  to  him, 
giving  directions.  He  answered,  gathered  up  papers 
from  the  table,  and  bowing  low,  followed  Pierol  and 
Maeut.  The  princess  sat  on  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence,  her  forehead  resting  upon  her  hand.  To 
Garin,  standing  between  table  and  door,  the  whole 
fair,  large  room,  the  figured  hangings,  the  beamed 

272 


THE  WHITE  TOWER 

ceiling,  the  deep-set  windows,  the  floor  where  were 
strewn  autumn  buds  and  shoots  from  the  garden, 
seemed  a  rich  casket  filled  with  a  playing  light.  The 
light  had  a  source.  Garin  felt  a  madness,  a  desire  to 
sink  wholly  into  the  light,  a  wish  to  unclasp  once 
and  forever  the  hold  of  the  past,  accompanied  by  a 
dizzying  sense  that  in  no  wise  might  it  be  done.  The 
inner  man  put  steadying  hands  upon  himself,  forced 
himself  to  look  into  the  eye  of  the  day  and  of  duty. 

The  princess  let  fall  her  hand,  turned  slightly  in 
her  chair,  and  faced  him.  Her  look  was  still  and  in 
tent;  behind  it  stood  a  strong  will,  an  intelligence  of 
wide  scope.  There  might  seem,  besides,  a  glow,  a 
tension,  an  urging  as  of  something  that  would  bloom 
but  was  held  back,  postponed,  dominated.  She 
spoke  and  her  voice  had  a  golden  and  throbbing 
quality.  "I  have  sent  for  you,  Sir  Knight,  because 
I  wish  to  ask  of  some  one  great  service,  and  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  you  would  answer  to  my  ask 
ing" — 

Garin  came  nearer  to  her.    "I  answer,  my  lady." 

"You  will  be,  and  that  for  long  days,  in  great 
peril.  Peril  will  begin  this  very  eve.  I  do  not  wish 
now  to  tell  you  the  nature  of  your  adventure  —  or 
to  tell  you  more  than  that  it  is  honourable." 

"Tell  me  what  you  will,  and  no  more  than  that." 

"Then  listen,  and  keep  each  step  in  mind  —  and 
first  of  all,  that  the  matter  is  secret." 

"First,  it  is  secret." 

"At  dusk  a  jongleur  will  come  to  your  lodging, 
273 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

bringing  with  him  a  dress  like  his  own,  his  lute  and 
other  matters.  Clothe  yourself  like  him,  cut  your 
hair  closer,  somewhat  darken  your  face.  Let  him 
aid  you;  he  is  faithful.  Wear  a  dagger,  but  no  other 
arms  nor  armour.  You  will  go,  too,  afoot.  Knightly 
courage  you  will  need,  but  keen  wit  must  do  for 
hauberk  and  destrier,  sword  and  lance.  When  you 
are  dressed  you  are  henceforth,  for  I  know  not  how 
many  days  or  weeks,  the  jongleur  Elias  of  Mont- 
audon." 

"Thus  far,  I  have  it  in  mind. —  Elias  of  Mont- 
audon." 

"You  know  the  postern  called  the  rock-gate,  on 
the  northern  face,  between  Black  Tower  and  Eagle 
Tower?" 

"Yes." 

"When  the  bells  are  ringing  complin  you  will  go 
there  alone.  You  will  wait,  saying  naught  to  any  who 
may  come  or  go.  If  you  are  challenged  you  will  say 
that  you  are  there  upon  the  princess's  errand,  and 
you  will  give  the  word  of  the  night.  It  is  Two  Fal 
cons.11 

"At  complin.    Two  Falcons.11 

"You  will  wait  until  there  comes  to  you  one  man 
tled.  That  one  will  give  you  a  purse,  and  will  say 
to  you,  'Saint  Martin's  summer.'  You  will  answer 
*  Dreams  may  come  true. ' ' 

"'Saint  Martin's  summer.1  —  'Dreams  may  come 
true.111 

"The  purse  you  will  take  and  keep  —  keep  hid- 
274 


THE  WHITE  TOWER 

den.  It  will  be  for  need.  That  mantled  one  you  are 
to  follow,  and,  without  question,  obey.  —  Now  tell 
over  each  direction." 

Garin  told,  memory  making  no  slip.  He  ended, 
"I  am  to  follow  that  one  who,  giving  me  a  purse, 
says  Saint  Martin's  summer.  He  commands  and  I 
obey  —  " 

"As  you  would  myself,"  said  the  princess. 

She  turned  in  her  chair,  looked  beyond  him  out 
of  the  window  upon  tower  and  roof  and  wall  and  the 
November  sky  of  a  southern  land.  "  I  hold  you  true 
knight,  true  poet,  true  man,"  she  said.  "Else  never 
should  I  give  you  this  charge!  Keep  that  likewise 
in  memory,  Sir  Garin  de  Castel-Noir,  Sir  Garin  de 
1'Isle  d'Or!  —  And  now  you  will  go.  Tell  Sir  Aimar 
de  Panemonde  that  you  have  been  set  a  task  and 
given  an  errand  full  of  danger,  but  that,  living,  he 
may  see  you  again  by  Christmas-tide.  Tell  no  one 
else  anything." 

"Going  on  such  an  errand  and  so  long,"  said 
Garin,  "and  one  from  which  there  may  be  no  re 
turning,  I  would  kiss  your  hands,  my  liege — •" 

She  gave  her  hand  to  him.  He  knelt  and  kissed  the 
slender,  long,  embrowned  fingers.  As  they  rested, 
that  moment,  upon  his  own  hand,  there  came  into 
his  mind  some  association.  It  came  and  was  gone 
like  distant  lightning,  and  he  could  not  then  give  it 
name  or  habitation.  He  rose  and  stepped  backward 
to  the  door.  ' '  God  be  with  you,  my  Lady  Audiart — ' ' 

"And  with  you,"  the  princess  answered  gravely. 
275 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Outside  the  White  Tower  he  paused  a  moment  and 
looked  about  him,  his  eyes  saying  farewell  to  a  place 
that  in  actuality  he  might  not  see  again.  It  was  the 
same  with  the  garden  through  which  he  presently 
passed.  Now  it  was  sunshine,  but  he  thought  of  it 
in  dusk,  the  eve  when  he  had  been  there  with  the 
princess.  Later  in  the  day  he  found  Aimar,  and  told 
him  as  much  as  he  had  been  told  to  tell  and  no  more. 
The  two  brothers-in-arms  spent  an  hour  together, 
then  they  embraced  and  Aimar  went  to  the  men  of 
both,  defending  the  city  wall.  When  the  sun  hung 
low  in  the  west,  Garin  sent  there  also  his  squire 
Rainier.  The  sun  sank  and  he  stood  at  his  window 
watching. 

Around  the  corner  came  a  man  in  brown  and  yel 
low  like  autumn  leaves.  Slung  from  his  neck  by  a 
red  ribbon  he  had  a  lute,  and  under  his  arm  a 
bundle  wrapped  in  cloth.  He  reached  the  entrance 
below,  spoke  to  the  porter  and  vanished  within. 
Garin,  turning  from  the  window,  answered  presently 
to  a  knock  at  the  door.  "Enter!"  There  came  in, 
the  room  being  yet  lit  by  the  glow  from  the  western 
sky,  the  brown  and  yellow  man.  He  proved  to  be  a 
slender,  swarthy  person,  with  long,  narrow  eyes  and 
a  Moorish  look.  "I  speak,"  he  asked,  "to  the  right 
noble  knight  and  famed  troubadour  Sir  Garin  of  the 
Black  Castle  —  also  called  of  the  Golden  Island?" 

"I  am  Sir  Garin.  I  know  you  for  the  jongleur, 
Elias  of  Montaudon." 

"That  poor  same,  fair  sir!  —  Moreover  I  have 
276 


THE  WHITE  TOWER 

here  that  which  will  make  in  the  castle  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  two  of  me!"  He  laid  the  bundle  on  a  bench, 
and  slipping  the  ribbon  from  his  neck  placed  there 
the  lute  as  well.  "When  I  think  that  from  so  famous 
a  troubadour  I  am  set  to  make  a  poor  jongleur,  I 
know  not  how  to  take  my  task!  But  princesses  are 
to  be  obeyed,  and  truly  I  would  do  much  for  this 
one!  And  for  your  comfort,  lord,  —  only  for  that 
and  never  for  vain-glory,  —  I  would  have  you  to  wit 
that  Elias  of  Montaudon  hath  a  kind  of  fame  of  his 
own!"  As  he  spoke  he  untied  the  bundle.  "It  is 
an  honour  that  you  should  deign  to  wear  me,  so 
to  speak,  in  whatever  world  you  are  repairing  to  — 
and  Saint  Orpheus  my  witness,  I  know  not  where 
that  world  may  be!  So,  noble  sir,  here  is,  at  your 
pleasure,  a  holiday  suit  —  only  a  little  worn  —  and 
a  name  no  more  frayed  than  is  reasonably  to  be  ex 
pected!" 

"Gramercy  for  both,"  answered  Garin.  "How 
have  you  fared  between  the  days  of  Guy  of  Per- 
pignan  and  now?" 

He  took  the  lute  from  the  bench,  swept  the  strings, 
and  sang,  though  not  loudly:  — 

"In  the  spring  all  hidden  close, 
Lives  many  a  bud  will  be  a  rose! 
In  the  spring  'tis  crescent  morn, 
But  then,  ah  then,  the  man  is  born! 
In  the  spring  't  is  yea  or  nay, 
Then  cometh  Love  makes  gold  of  clay ! 
Love  is  the  rose  and  truest  gold, 
Love  is  the  day  and  soldan  bold  — " 

277 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

He  owned  a  golden  voice.  The  notes  throbbed 
through  the  room.  The  last  died  and  he  laughed. 
"That  song  of  Guy  of  Perpignan!  —  I  heard  it  first 
from  you." 

The  jongleur  stood  staring.  "  I  have  been  in  many 
a  castle  hall  and  bower,  at  an  infinity  of  tourna 
ments,  and  two  or  three  times  where  baron  and 
knight  were  warring  in  earnest.  Up  and  down  and 
to  and  fro  in  the  world  I  practice  my  art,  riding  when 
I  can  and  walking  when  I  must!  But  when  I  had 
the  honour  of  striking  viol,  lute  or  harp  before  you, 
sir,  I  do  not  recall.  Being  so  famous  a  knight  and 
poet,  I  should  remember — ..  And  then  men  say 
that  you  have  been  long  years  in  the  land  over  the 
sea!" 

"  It  was  before  I  went  to  the  land  over  the  sea.  — 
But  come!  the  sky  is  fading,  it  is  growing  dusk. 
Light  the  candles  there,  and  begin  to  turn  me  into 
your  other  self!" 

The  candles  lighted,  the  jongleur  shook  out  the 
clothing  he  had  brought.  "Earth-brown  and  leaf- 
green,"  he  said,  "with  a  hooded  mantle  half  the  one 
and  half  the  other.  —  Now,  noble  sir,  I  can  play  the 
squire  as  well  as  the  squire  himself!" 

He  took  from  Garin  the  garments  which  the  latter 
put  off,  gave  him  piece  by  piece  those  that  were  to 
transform.  The  two,  jongleur  and  knight  and  trou 
badour,  were  much  of  a  height.  Garin  was  the  more 
strongly  built,  but  the  garb  of  the  time  had  am 
plitude  of  line  and  fold  and  Elias  of  Montaudon's 

278 


THE  WHITE  TOWER 

holiday  dress  fitted  him  well  enough.  "Of  delibera 
tion  and  answering  to  command,"  said  the  jongleur, 
"it  has  been  slightly  rent  and  patched  here  and  dis 
coloured  there.  If  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself  asked 
me  why,  I  could  not  tell  her!  I  have  also  a  phial  of  a 
brown  stain  which,  lightly  used,  makes  for  a  darker 
complexion  than  the  sun  has  painted  you  with.  .  .  . 
Sir  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,  in  hall  and  bower  and 
wherever  chivalry  gathers,  I  have  sung  songs  of 
your  making.  But  when  and  where  have  I  sung 
to  you?  I  have  curiosity,  without  which  life  would 
be  a  dull  dream !  Give  largesse,  sir,  in  the  coin  of  a 
wiser  world  —  that  is  to  say,  give  knowledge!" 

Garin  smiled.  "I  was  esquire  then,  and  you  sat 
by  a  boulder  in  the  forest,  not  so  many  miles  from 
Roche-de-Frene  and  discoursed  of  jongleur  merits 
and  of  an  ingrate  master,  to  wit,  Guy  of  Perpignan ! 
Also  you  sang  certain  lines  of  his,  and  spoke  sapi- 
ently  of  Lord  Love.  That,  too,  was  an  autumn 
day,  and  when  I  was  a  squire  I  wore  brown  and 
green." 

The  jongleur  lifted  both  hands  and  beat  a  meas 
ure  upon  his  brow.  "  Ha!  and  by  Saint  Arion  and  his 
dolphin  you  did !  A  proper  squire,  singing  a  hunting 
stave  —  Ha!"  cried  Elias  of  Montaudon,  "  I  have 
heard  sing  a  master-poet  before  he  was  poet! 

"In  the  spring  'tis  crescent  morn, 
But  then,  ah  then,  the  man  is  born!' 

though,  certainly,  it  was  autumn!  ...  I  remember 

279 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

as  clear  as  crystal !  I  was  asleep,  and  you  waked  me, 
coming  up  on  a  great  horse  — " 

"Just  so.  I  left  the  saddle  and  let  Paladin  graze, 
and  we  talked." 

" Clearer  than  Saint  Martha's  well!  .  .  .  The  talk 
was  of  love,  and  that  you  had  not  yet  a  lady  —  By 
all  the  saints!"  said  Elias,  "how  soon  must  that 
have  been  remedied!" 

Garin  laughed,  but  there  was  rue  in  his  laughter. 
He  suddenly  grew  grave,  the  rock-gate  before  his 
mind's  eye.  "  Come!  let  us  have  this  stain.  Shorten, 
too,  my  hair."  He  took  up  Elias's  lute  and  tried  its 
strings.  "Play  the  jongleur  —  play  the  jongleur. 
Every  man  has  in  his  garde-robe  every  dress!  The 
king  can  play  the  beggar,  and  the  beggar  play 
the  king.  Be  quick,  courageous,  and  certain  in  the 
change  — iso  is  the  trumpet  answered ! "  He  put  the 
lute's  ribbon  over  his  head.  "  It  falls  night.  Hasten, 
Elias  of  Montaudon,  and  while  you  work  tell  me 
your  own  life  these  six  years!  If  I  make  another  of 
you,  I  will  make  it  like!" 

The  man  in  brown  and  yellow  worked.  ...  At  last 
there  stood  in  the  lighted  room,  not  a  knight  and 
crusader  and  troubadour,  but  a  jongleur  with  a 
brown  face,  with  a  somewhat  tarnished  brown  and 
green  attire,  with  a  lute  slung  by  a  red  ribbon,  on  his 
head  a  cap  with  a  black  cock's  feather,  at  his  belt 
a  dagger  and  sheath  of  the  best  Italian  make. 
Dagger  and  sheath  the  knight  had  supplied.  It  was 
now  full  night,  and  not  so  long  before,  from  every 

280 


THE  WHITE  TOWER 

house  of  the  religious  in  Roche-de-Frene,  complin 
would  ring.  The  jongleur  in  brown  and  yellow  took 
his  leave.  He  had  his  fee,  he  said;  likewise  a  com 
mand  as  to  a  bridled  tongue.  The  jongleur  in  brown 
and  green  saw  him  go,  then  put  out  the  candles, 
pushed  a  bench  to  the  window,  and  sitting  down 
waited  for  the  signal  next  in  order.  ...  At  last  the 
bells  spoke. 

Garin,  rising,  left  the  room  and  descended  the 
stair.  The  passage  below  was  in  darkness,  at  the 
exit  but  one  smoky  torch.  He  drew  the  wide  man 
tle  closely  about  him,  pulling  the  hood  over  head 
and  face.  His  step  said  to  the  man  at  the  door,  "Sir 
Garin."  He  passed,  an  unquestioned  inmate,  not 
clearly  seen  in  the  light  blown  by  the  autumn  wind. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    ROCK-GATE 

AT  the  northern  point  of  the  Mount  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,  castle  wall  and  wall  of  the  town  made  as  it 
were  one  height,  so  close  did  each  approach  the  other. 
Huge  rock  upon  rock,  Roche-de-Frene  lifted  here 
from  the  plain.  This  was  the  impregnable  face, 
sheer  rock  and  double  wall,  at  the  bottom  a  fosse, 
and,  grim  at  the  top,  against  cloud  or  clear  sky, 
Black  Tower  and  Eagle  Tower.  In  the  high  and 
thick  curtain  of  stone  between  was  pierced  the  post 
ern  called  the  rock-gate.  Here  Garin  came,  on  a 
night  not  cold  and  powdered  with  stars. 

The  gate  had  its  turret,  and  within  the  shadow  of 
the  wall  a  long  bench  of  stone.  Ordinarily,  day  or 
night,  there  might  be  here  a  watch  of  twenty  men. 
To-night  he  saw  that  this  was  not  the  case.  There 
was  a  sentinel  pacing  to  and  fro  before  the  turret. 
This  man  stopped  him. 

"The  princess's  errand,"  said  Garin. 

"The  word?" 

11  Two  Falcons ." 

"Just."  The  speaker  paced  on. 

Garin,  going  on  to  the  gate,  pondered  voice  and 
air.  They  seemed  to  him  not  those  of  any  customary 
sentinel,  but  of  a  knight  of  renown,  a  foster-brother 

282 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

of  the  princess.  By  the  turret  were  other  shadowy 
figures  —  three  or  four.  These  also  kept  silence,  or, 
if  they  spoke  among  themselves,  spoke  briefly  and 
too  low  for  their  words  to  be  distinguished. 

Garin,  Elias  of  Montaudon's  mantle  close  about 
him,  sat  down  upon  the  bench  in  the  angle  made  by 
wall  and  turret.  He  thought  that  the  shadowy  fig 
ures  took  note  of  him,  but  they  did  not  speak  to  him 
nor  he  to  them.  They  and  he  were  silent.  There  fell 
the  sentinel's  step,  and  sounds  now  vague,  now  dis 
tinct,  from  Black  Tower  and  Eagle  Tower,  both  of 
which  were  garrisoned.  For  the  rest  came  the  usual 
murmur  of  the  armed  and  watchful  night.  Garin 
lifted  his  eyes  to  the  starry  sky.  At  first  his  faculties 
drank  simply  the  splendour  of  the  night,  the  blended 
personalities  of  scene  and  hour;  then  some  slight 
thing  brought  Palestine  into  mind.  There  came  be 
fore  the  inner  vision  the  eve  of  his  knighthood,  when 
he  had  watched  his  armour  in  the  chapel  of  a  great 
castle,  crusader-built.  That  was  such  a  night  as 
this.  There  had  been  an  open  window,  and  through 
the  hours,  as  he  knelt  or  stood,  he  had  seen  the  stars 
climb  upward.  The  emotion  of  that  night  re 
kindled.  It  came  from  the  past  like  a  slender  youth 
and  walked  beside  the  stronger-thewed  and  older 
man.  Garin  watched  the  stars,  then  with  a  long, 
sighing  breath,  let  his  gaze  fall  to  the  sky-line,  vast, 
irregular,  imposing,  and  to  the  mass  of  buildings  that 
the  earth  upheld.  Here  was  deep  shadow,  here  a 
pale,  starlight  illumination.  Here  light  rayed  out 

283 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

from  narrow  windows,  or  a  carried  torch  or  lanthorn 
displayed  some  facet  of  the  whole. 

He  turned  toward  the  White  Tower.  He  could  see 
it  dimly  between  two  nearer  buildings.  .  .  .  He  rose 
from  the  bench.  Figures  were  approaching,  two  or 
three.  They  also  were  mantled,  face  and  form.  Two 
stopped  a  few  steps  away,  the  third  came  on.  He 
advanced  to  meet  it.  He  could  only  tell  that  it  was 
slender,  somewhat  less  tall  than  himself.  The  man 
tle  enveloped,  the  cowl-like  hood  enveloped.  A  hand 
held  out  a  purse  which  he  took.  It  felt  heavy;  he 
put  it  within  the  breast  of  his  robe. 

"  Saint  Martin's  summer  "  said  a  voice. 

He  answered.  "Dreams  may  come  true."  His 
heart  beat  violently,  his  senses  swam.  The  stars 
overhead  seemed  to  grow  larger,  to  become  vast, 
throbbing,  living  jewels.  It  appeared  that  the  world 
slightly  trembled.  .  .  . 

The  mantled  form  turned  head,  motioned  to  those 
who  had  stopped  short.  These  came  up,  then  after 
a  word  all  moved  to  the  rock-gate.  To  right  and 
left  of  this  now  stood  the  men  who  had  waited  by 
the  turret.  The  night  had  grown  still.  Montmaure, 
busy  with  changes  of  position,  let  night  and  day 
go  by  without  attack.  Roche-de-Fr£ne  kept  watch 
and  ward,  but  likewise,  as  far  as  might  be,  sank  to 
needed  sleep.  The  investing  host,  the  great  dragon 
that  lay  upon  the  plain,  seemed,  too,  to  sleep.  The 
castle  up  against  the  stars  slept  or  held  its  breath. 
The  small  rock-gate  opened.  Garin  and  that  one 

284 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

who  had  given  him  the  purse  and  changed  with  him 
the  countersign  passed  through.  After  them  came 
the  two  who  had  accompanied  that  one.  Garin  now 
saw  that  the  taller  of  these  was  Stephen  the  Marshal. 
The  gate  closed  behind  them. 

They  stood  upon  a  shelf  of  rock.  Below  them  they 
saw  the  stars  mirrored  in  the  castle  moat.  One  of  the 
accompanying  men  now  passed  in  front  and  led  the 
way.  They  were  in  a  downward-sloping,  tunnel-like 
passage.  It  wound  and  doubled  upon  itself;  for  a 
time  they  descended,  then  trod  a  level,  then  felt  that 
they  were  upon  a  climbing  path.  At  last  came  again 
descent.  At  intervals  they  had  seen  through  the 
crevices  overhead  the  stars  of  heaven;  now  the 
passage  ended  with  the  stars  at  their  feet,  dim  light 
points  in  the  still  water  of  the  moat,  stretching  im 
mediately  before  them,  closing  their  path.  A  boat, 
oared  by  one  man,  lay  upon  it.  The  four  from  the 
castle  towering  overhead  stepped  into  this;  it  was 
pushed  from  the  sheer  rock.  In  a  moment  there 
showed  no  sign  of  the  road  by  which  they  had  come. 
The  boat  went  some  way,  then  turned  its  prow  to 
the  opposing  bank.  It  rose  above  them  dark  and 
sheer.  No  lasting  stairway  was  here,  but  as  the  boat 
touched  the  masonry,  a  hand  came  over  the  coping 
above,  and  there  dropped  one  end  of  a  ladder  of 
rope.  The  man  who  had  led  the  way  through  the 
tunnel  caught  it  and  fastened  it  to  a  stanchion  at  the 
water's  edge. 

"Go  first,"  said  Stephen  the  Marshal  to  Garin. 
285 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  latter  obeyed,  went  lightly  up  the  ladder,  and 
upon  the  moat's  rugged  bank  found  himself  among 
two  or  three  men,  kneeling,  peering  down  upon  the 
boat  and  its  occupants.  That  one  who  had  said 
"Saint  Martin's  summer"  came  next,  light  and 
lithe  as  a  boy.  Last  of  the  four  mounted  the  one 
who  had  fastened  the  ladder  and  gone  ahead  in  the 
tunnel.  Garin  thought  him  that  engineer  whom  the 
princess  highly  paid  and  highly  trusted. 

They  were  now  between  the  moat  and  the  wall  of 
the  town,  rising,  upon  this  northern  face,  in  the  very 
shadow  of  the  castle  rock.  About  them  were  roofs  of 
houses.  They  went  down  a  staircase  of  stone  and 
came  into  a  lane-like  space.  Before  them  sprang, 
huge  and  high,  the  burghers'  wall,  with,  on  this  side, 
no  apparent  gate,  but  a  blankness  of  stone.  On  the 
parapet  above,  a  sentinel  went  by,  larger  than  life 
against  the  sky  that  was  paling  before  the  approach 
of  the  moon.  Some  sound  perhaps  had  been  made, 
at  the  moat  or  upon  the  stair  between  the  houses; 
for  now  a  guard  with  halberds,  a  dozen  or  more, 
came  athwart  their  road  with  a  peremptory  chal 
lenge  to  halt. 

A  word  was  given,  the  guard  fell  back.  The  four 
from  the  castle,  followed  by  those  who  had  met 
them  at  the  moat,  went  on,  walking  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wall  that  seemed  unbroken,  a  blank,  unpierced 
solid.  They  had  moved  away  from  the  most  pre 
cipitous  point  of  the  hill  of  Roche-de-Frene,  but  now 
they  were  bearing  back.  High  above  them,  almost 

286 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

directly  overhead,  hung  that  part  of  the  castle  wall 
where  was  set  the  rock-gate. 

They  came  to  a  huge  buttress  springing  inward 
from  the  city  wall,  almost  spanning  the  way  between 
it  and  the  moat.  Here,  in  the  angle  was  what  they 
sought.  From  somewhere  sprang  a  dim  light  and 
showed  a  low  and  narrow  opening,  a  gate  more  ob 
scure  even  and  masked  than  that  by  which  they  had 
left  the  castle.  Here,  too,  awaited  men ;  a  word  was 
given  and  the  gate  opened.  A  portcullis  lifted,  they 
passed  under,  passed  outward.  There  was  a  sense  of 
a  gulf  of  air,  and  then  of  Montmaure's  watch-lights, 
staring  up  from  the  plain.  As  without  the  gate  in  the 
castle  wall,  so  here,  they  stood  upon  a  ledge  of  rock, 
masked  by  a  portion  of  the  cliff  and  by  a  growth  of 
bush  and  vine.  Behind  them  was  Roche-de-Frene, 
castle  and  town ;  before  them  the  rock  fell  sheer  for 
many  feet  to  a  base  of  earth  so  steep  as  to  be  nearly 
precipitous.  This  in  turn  sank  by  degrees  to  a 
broken  strip,  earth  and  boulder,  and  to  a  wood  of 
small  pines  which  merged  with  the  once-cultivated 
plain. 

The  dragon  that  lay  about  Roche-de-Frene 
watched  less  closely  here  to  the  north.  He  could  not 
get  at  Roche-de-Frene  from  this  side:  he  knew  that 
no  torrent  of  armed  men  could  descend  upon  him 
here.  His  eyes  could  not  read  the  two  small,  am 
bushed  doors,  out  of  which,  truly,  no  torrent  could 
come!  Perhaps  he  was  aware  that  the  besieged 
might,  some  night-time,  let  down  the  cliff  spy  or 

287 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

messenger  striving  to  make  a  way  north  to  that  dis 
tant  and  deaf  King  of  France.  If  so,  that  daring  one 
might  not  at  all  easily  pass  the  watch  that  the  dragon 
kept.  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup  and  his  Free  Compan 
ions  encamped  in  this  northern  quarter. 

Those  who  stood  without  the  wall  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  looked  from  their  narrow  footing  forth  and 
down  upon  the  fields  of  night  and  the  flickering 
tokens  of  the  dragon  their  foe.  The  men  who  had 
handled  the  rope-ladder  at  the  moat  now  knelt  at 
the  edge  of  this  shelf,  made  fast  a  like  stair  but  a 
longer,  weighted  the  free  end  with  a  stone,  and  swung 
it  over  the  cliff  side.  It  fell:  the  whole  straightened 
itself,  hung  a  passable  road  to  the  foot  of  the  rock. 
That  attained,  there  would  rest  the  rough  and  broken 
hillside  that  fell  to  the  wood,  the  wood  that  fell 
to  the  plain  where  the  dragon  had  dominion.  The 
night  was  still,  the  waning  moon  pushing  up  from 
the  east. 

That  one  who  alone  had  used  the  phrase  "  Saint 
Martin's  summer"  spoke  to  Garin:  "Go  you  first," 
and  then  to  Stephen  the  Marshal:  "Now  we  say 
farewell,  Lord  Stephen!" 

Garin,  at  the  cliff  edge,  heard  behind  him  the 
marshal's  low  and  fervent  commendations  to  the 
Mother  of  God  and  every  Saint.  He  himself  set  his 
feet  upon  the  rope-stair,  went  down  the  rock-side, 
touched  the  stony  earth  at  the  base,  stood  aside. 
That  other,  that  strange  companion  of  this  night, 
came  lightly  after  —  not  hurriedly,  with  a  light 

288 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

deliberateness — and  stood  beside  him  on  the  moon- 
silvered  hill.  The  moon  showed  a  woman,  slender 
and  lithe,  with  a  peasant's  bodice  and  ragged,  short 
ened  kirtle  and  great  mantle  of  frieze.  At  her  word  he 
loosened  the  weighting  stone,  drew  at  the  rope  three 
times.  Those  at  the  top  of  the  rock  receiving  the 
signal,  the  ladder  was  drawn  slowly  up,  vanished. 
Above  the  two  soared  the  clean  rock,  and  loftier  yet, 
the  bare,  the  inaccessible  wall  of  Roche-de-Frene. 
Black  Tower  and  Eagle  Tower  seemed  among  the 
stars.  There  was  a  gulf  between  them  and  those 
small,  hidden,  defended  entrances.  The  strained  gaze 
could  see  naught  but  some  low,  out-cropping  bushes 
and  a  trailing  vine.  Up  there  the  men  who  had 
brought  them  to  that  side  of  the  gulf  might  yet  be 
gazing  outward,  listening  with  bated  breath  for  any 
token  that  that  dragon  was  awake  and  aware;  but 
they  could  not  tell  if  it  were  so.  Up  there  was  the 
friendly  world,  down  here  the  hostile.  Up  there 
might  be  troubadour-knight  and  princess,  down 
here  stood  jongleur  and  peasant. 

They  stood  yet  a  moment  at  the  foot  of  the  crag, 
then  she  who  was  dressed  as  a  worker  among  the 
vines  or  a  herd  to  drive  and  watch  the  flocks  turned 
in  silence  and  began  to  descend  the  moonlit  boulder- 
strewn  declivity.  She  was  light  of  foot,  quick  and 
dexterous  of  movement.  Garin,  who  was  now  Elias 
of  Montaudon,  moved  beside  her.  They  came  down 
the  steep  hill,  bare  and  blanched  by  the  moon.  The 
dragon  had  no  outpost  here;  did  he  plant  one,  the 

289 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

archers  upon  the  town  wall  might  sweep  it  away. 
But  the  shafts  would  not  reach  to  the  wood  —  there 
perhaps  they  might  hear  the  dragon's  breathing. 
They  went  without  speech,  and  with  no  noise  that 
could  be  helped  of  foot  against  stone.  .  .  .  Here  was 
a  slight  fringe  of  pine  and  oak.  They  stood  still, 
listened  —  all  was  silent.  They  looked  back  and 
saw  Roche-de-Frene  and  the  castle  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  bathed  by  the  grey  night. 

"Cap-du-Loup  and  his  men  hold  in  this  quarter," 
said  the  woman  in  a  low  voice.  "We had  a  spy  forth 
who  got  back  to  us  three  days  since.  Cap-du-Loup's 
tents  and  booths  are  thrown  and  scattered,  stony 
ground  and  seams  in  the  earth  between  the  hand- 
fuls.  He  does  not  keep  stern  watch,  not  looking  for 
anything  of  moment  to  descend  this  way.  Here 
abouts  is  the  ravine  of  the  brook  of  Saint  Laurent, 
and  half  a  mile  up  it  a  medley  of  camp-followers, 
men  and  women." 

She  had  not  ceased  to  move  as  she  spoke.  They 
were  now  in  the  midst  of  a  spare  growth  of  trees, 
under  foot  a  turf  burned  by  the  sun  and  ground  to 
dust  by  the  tread,  through  half  a  year,  of  a  host  of 
folk.  Some  distance  ahead  the  night  was  copper- 
hued;  over  there  were  camp-fires.  They  were  now, 
also,  in  the  zone  of  a  faint  confused  sound.  They 
moved  aside  from  the  direction  of  the  strongest 
light,  the  deepest,  intermittent  humming,  and  came, 
presently,  to  the  brook  of  Saint  Laurent.  It  flowed 
through  a  shallow  ravine  with  rough,  scarped  banks. 

290 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

Down  it,  too,  came  faint  light  and  sound,  proceeding 
from  the  camp  of  followers. 

"Our  aim,"  said  she  in  peasant  dress,  "is  to  be 
found  at  dawn  among  that  throng,  indistinguishable 
from  it,  and  so  to  pass  to  its  outermost  edge  and 
away." 

They  were  standing  above  the  murmuring  stream. 
Overhead  the  wind  was  in  the  pine-tops.  There  were 
elfin  voices,  too,  of  the  creatures  of  the  grass  and 
bush  and  bark.  All  life,  and  life  in  his  own  veins, 
seemed  to  Garin  to  be  alert,  awake  as  never  before, 
quivering  and  streaming  and  mounting  like  flame. 

"I  am  Elias  of  Montaudon,"  he  said.  "I  under 
stand  that,  and  how  to  play  the  jongleur,  and  that 
if  peril  conies  and  stands  like  a  giant  and  questions 
us,  I  am  no  jongleur  of  Roche-de-Frene  nor  allied 
there—" 

"Say  that  you  are  of  Limousin." 

"  I  have  not  dropped  from  the  sky  into  the  camp 
of  Cap-du-Loup,  but  have  been  singing  and  playing, 
telling  japes  and  tales,  merry  or  sad,  vaulting  and 
wrestling  elsewhere  in  the  host  — " 

"With  the  men  of  Aquitaine.  Say  that  in  Poitou 
Duke  Richard  himself  praised  you." 

"And  should  they  question  me  of  you?" 

"I  also  am  of  Limousin.  There  I  watched  sheep, 
but  now  I  am  your  mie  and  a  traveller  with  you." 

"By  what  name  am  I  to  call  you?" 

"I  am  Jael  the  herd.   You  will  call  me  Jael." 

They  were  moving  this  while  up  the  stream.   Did 
291 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

any  come  upon  them  now,  it  would  hardly  be  held 
that  they  had  flown  from  the  battlements  of  Roche- 
de-Frene.  The  ground  was  rough,  the  trees,  crowd 
ing  together,  shut  out  the  light  from  the  moon,  while 
the  fires  at  the  end  of  vistas  grew  ruddier.  The  mut 
tering  and  humming  also  of  the  host  in  the  night 
increased. 

Jael  the  herd  stood  still.  "It  will  not  suit  us  to 
stumble  in  the  dark  upon  some  wild  band !  Here  is 
Saint  Laurent's  garden  of  safety.  Let  us  rest  on  the 
pine-needles  until  cock-crow." 

They  lay  down,  the  jongleur  wrapped  in  his  man 
tle,  the  herd-girl  in  hers.  "We  must  gather  sleep 
wherever  it  grows,"  said  the  latter.  "  I  will  sleep  and 
you  will  watch  until  the  moon  rounds  the  top  of  that 
great  pine.  Wake  me  then,  and  look,  Elias,  that  you 
doit!" 

She  pillowed  her  head  upon  the  scrip  or  wallet 
which  she  carried  slung  over  her  shoulder,  and  lay 
motionless.  The  jongleur  watched.  .  .  .  The  barred 
moon  mounted  higher,  the  night  wheeled,  eastern 
lands  were  knowing  light.  Garin,  resting  against  a 
pine  trunk,  lute  and  wallet  beside  him  on  the  earth, 
kept  his  gaze  from  the  sleeper,  bestowed  it  instead 
upon  the  silver,  gliding  boat  of  the  moon,  or  upon 
the  not-distant,  murky  glare  of  unfriendly  fires.  But 
gaze  here  or  gaze  there,  space  and  time  sang  to  one 
presence!  Wonder  must  exist  as  to  this  night  and 
the  morrow  and  what  journey  was  this.  Mind  could 
not  but  lift  the  lanthorn,  weigh  likelihoods,  pace 

292 


THE  ROCK-GATE 

around  and  around  the  subject.  That  quest  drew 
him,  but  it  was  not  all,  nor  most  that  drew.  .  .  .  Jael 
the  herd!  Jael  the  herd!  Here  came  impossibilities — 
dreams,  phantasies,  rain  of  gold  and  silver,  impos 
sibilities!  He  remembered  clearly  now  a  herd-girl, 
and  that  when  he  had  asked  her  name  she  had  an 
swered  "Jael."  Many  shepherdesses  trod  the  earth, 
and  a  many  might  be  named  Jael!  Moreover  sheer, 
clear  impossibility  must  conquer,  subdue  and  dis 
pose  of  all  this  mad  thinking.  She  who  lay  asleep 
was  like  that  herd-girl  —  he  saw  it  now  —  shape, 
colouring,  voice  —  That  and  the  name  she  had  hap 
pened  to  choose  —  that  and  the  torn,  shepherdess 
garb  —  to  that  was  owed  this  dizzy  dreaming,  this 
jewelled  sleet  of  fancy,  high  tide  of  imagination, 
flooding  every  inland.  .  .  .  Things  could  not  be  dif 
ferent,  yet  the  same  —  beings  could  not  be  separate, 
yet  one  —  or  in  some  strange,  rich  world,  could  that 
be  so?  But  here  was  mere  impossibility!  Garin 
strove  to  still  the  wider  and  wider  vibrations.  The 
Fair  Goal  —  The  Fair  Goal!  .  .  .  The  moon  rounded 
the  top  of  the  pine  tree. 

He  crossed  to  the  sleeper's  side,  knelt,  and  spoke 
low.  "My  liege — "  She  stirred,  opened  her  eyes. 
"My  liege,  the  moon  begins  to  go  down  the  sky." 

With  her  hand  pressed  against  the  pine-needles 
she  rose  to  a  sitting  posture.  "  I  slept  —  and,  by  my 
faith,  I  wanted  sleep!  Now  it  is  your  turn.  Do  not 
again  call  me  liege  or  lady  or  princess  or  Audiart. 
The  wind  might  carry  it  to  Cap-du-Loup.  Say  always 

293 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

to  me,  'Jael.'    And  now  lie  down  and  sleep.    I  will 
wake  you  when  the  east  is  grey." 

Garin  slept.  The  Princess  Audiart  rested  against 
a  tree,  and  now  watched  the  moon,  and  now  the 
fires  kindled  by  her  foe  and  Roche-de-Frene's,  and 
now  she  watched  the  sleeping  man.  The  attire  which 
she  wore,  the  name  she  had  chosen  for  the  simple 
reason  that  once  before  she  had  chanced  to  take  it 
up  and  use  it,  brought  brightly  into  mind  a  long- 
ago  forest  glade  and  a  happening  there.  But  she 
did  not  link  that  autumn  day  with  the  man  lying 
wrapped  in  Elias  of  Montaudon's  cloak,  though  she 
did  link  it  with  Jaufre  de  Montmaure  who  had 
kindled  those  fires  in  the  night.  It  came,  a  vivid  pic 
ture,  and  then  it  slept  again.  There  was,  of  need,  a 
preoccupation  with  this  present  enterprise  and  its 
chaplet,  necklace,  girdle,  and  anklets  of  danger,  no 
less  than  with  its  bud  of  promise  which  she  meant,  if 
possible,  to  make  bloom.  Her  own  great  need  and 
the  need  of  Roche-de-Frene  formed  the  looming  pres 
ence,  high,  wide,  and  deep  as  the  night,  but,  playing 
and  interblending  with  it,  high,  wide,  and  deep  as 
the  day,  was  another  sense.  .  .  .  She  gazed  upon 
Garin  of  the  Golden  Island  lying  wrapped  in  the 
jongleur's  cloak,  and  the  loss  of  him  was  in  the 
looming  night,  and  the  gain  in  the  bud  of  promise 
and  the  feeling  of  the  sun.  To-night,  her  estate 
seemed  forlorn  enough,  but  within  she  was  a  power 
ful  princess  who  did  not  blink  her  own  desires  though 
she  was  wise  to  curb  and  rein  and  drive  them  rightly. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    SAFFRON   CROSS 

MOON  and  stars  began  to  pale.  The  camp-followers 
up  the  stream  had  poultry  with  them,  for  from  that 
direction  a  cock  crew  and  was  answered.  The  herd- 
girl  waked  the  jongleur.  "  I  have  black  bread  in  my 
scrip,"  she  said.  "Look  if  you  have  not  the  same." 

He  found  a  portion  of  a  loaf;  they  sat  by  the  brook 
Saint  Laurent  and  he  cut  the  bread  with  his  dagger 
and  they  ate  and  drank  of  the  water. 

Light  strengthened,  it  became  grey-pearl  under 
the  pines.  " Chill !  chill ! "  said  the  herd-girl.  "Often 
I  think  of  how  it  would  be  to  lie  out  under  the  sky, 
winter,  spring,  summer  and  now!  So  many  thou 
sands  do.  —  Now,  we  will  be  going." 

They  moved  along  the  bank  of  the  stream.  "We 
go  north,"  said  Garin's  mind.  "Will  she  go  to  the 
King  at  Paris?"  But  he  waited  without  question 
until  she  was  ready  to  say.  Jongleur  and  herd-girl, 
they  walked  through  the  grey  and  dewy  world.  The 
trees  now  stood  further  apart,  they  were  coming  to 
open  ground.  To  their  right  the  east  showed  stripes 
of  carnation.  The  cocks  crew  again;  the  mutter 
and  murmur  of  the  night  suddenly  took  height  and 
depth,  became  inarticulate  clamour  of  the  day  and 
an  encamped,  huge  host.  The  light  strengthened. 

295 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Between  the  stems  of  trees  they  saw,  at  no  great  dis 
tance,  huts  and  booths  of  autumn  branches.  They 
stood  still  for  a  little  in  the  flush  of  the  brightening 
dawn  —  divers  regarding  the  sea  into  which  they 
were  to  plunge,  the  sea  whose  every  wave  was  inim 
ical.  They  looked,  then,  each  turning  a  little,  their 
eyes  met.  It  was  but  for  a  moment;  immediately 
they  went  forward. 

Elias  of  Montaudon  was  all  dusk  and  green  of 
garb,  and  dusk  of  brow  and  cheek.  But  his  dagger 
hung  in  a  gilt  sheath  and  his  lute  by  a  red  ribbon, 
and  his  eyes  were  grey  with  glints  of  blue.  Jael  the 
herd,  too,  was  hued  like  a  Martinmas  leaf,  and  her 
hair  hung  over  her  bosom  and  to  her  knee,  in  long, 
dusk  braids.  The  jongleur  had  a  vision  of  dark  hair 
loosened  and  spread  in  elf-lock  and  wave,  half  hid 
ing  a  face  more  girlish  than  this  face,  but  as  this  face 
might  have  been,  eight  years  agone.  Impossibilities 
—  dreams,  phantasies,  magic  somewhere,  impos 
sibilities  ! 

They  were  now  almost  clear  of  the  broken  ground 
and  the  remnant  of  wood.  They  looked  back  and 
saw  Roche-de-Frene  lifted  against  the  solemn  sky; 
stood  still  and  for  a  minute  or  more  gazed,  and  as 
though  the  walls  were  glass,  viewed  the  tense  life 
within. 

"Did  you  ever  see  Richard  of  Aquitaine?"  asked 
the  herd-girl. 

"No,"  answered  the  jongleur,  and  felt  a  momen 
tary  wonder,  then  the  dawn  of  a  conjecture. 

296 


THE  SAFFRON   CROSS 

The  herd-girl  turned  again  to  their  wandering  and 
he  followed  her,  then  walked  beside  her.  .  .  .  Leav 
ing  the  last  group  of  trees,  they  came  with  sudden 
ness  upon  a  little  pebbly  shore  of  the  stream  and 
upon  half  a  dozen  women,  kneeling  and  beginning 
the  washing  of  clothes.  Several  ragged  children  sat 
by  a  fire  of  sticks  and  made  an  outcry  when  the  two 
came  from  the  wood.  The  women  looked  up.  "He! 
a  jongleur!"  cried  one.  "Come  trill  me  a  love-lay 
while  I  wash  my  sergeant's  one  shirt!" 

Elias  and  Jael  came  near,  sat  by  the  fire  of  sticks, 
and  felt  the  warmth  pleasant.  The  first  drew  his 
hand  across  the  strings  of  his  lute  and  sang:  — 

"  Sweet  May,  come!  the  lovers'  sweet  season. 
In  May  Love  seems  the  height  of  reason! 
Try  your  love  when  the  year  grows  older, 
The  birds  depart  and  the  earth  is  colder.  —  " 

He  stopped.  "Saint  Michael!  the  mist  is  yet  in 
my  throat.  Your  fire,  gossips,  is  the  sweet,  crack 
ling  singer — " 

One  of  the  women  sat  back  upon  her  heels,  and, 
hands  on  hips,  regarded  the  two.  "From  what 
camp  are  you?  You  are  not  of  our  camp?" 

"No.  We  have  been  over  yonder  —  near  to  the 
young  count." 

"If  Cap-du-Loup  saw  you  he  would  have  your 
lute  broken  and  you  sent  to  wait  on  fighting  men! 
Cap-du-Loup  loatheth  jongleurs  and  monks!  Your 
douce  there  he  might  take  —  but  no,  I  think  that  he 

297 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

would  not.  She  is  not  fair,  and  she  has  the  look  of 
one  with  claws  — " 

"I  have  claws,  sister,"  said  Jael.  "But  I  know 
how  to  keep  them  sheathed."  She  yawned.  "This 
good  fire  makes  you  sleepy.  Pretty  children,  let  me 
rest  my  head  upon  that  log  for  a  bit !  Play  to  us, 
Elias,  if  you  cannot  sing." 

She  put  her  head  down,  closed  her  eyes,  lying  in  the 
firelight.  The  jongleur  played  and  he  played  strange 
quaint  airs  that  made  the  washerwomen  laugh,  nod 
their  heads,  and  pat  with  their  hands.  After  this 
he  played  quieter  strains,  a  dreamy  and  monotonous 
music,  humming  to  it  a  thought  of  the  East.  They 
listened,  then  turned  to  their  rubbing  and  beating  of 
clothes,  working  as  in  a  dream,  to  a  soothed  and 
unquestioning  mood. 

Jael  sat  up,  warmed  her  hands  at  the  fire,  looked 
to  the  west.  On  the  other  side  of  the  brook  of  Saint 
Laurent  a  trampling  sound  arose  and  grew.  The 
mist  yielded  a  grey  vision  of  horsemen  approaching 
in  number.  They  loomed,  there  ran  before  them 
noise  —  harsh  voices,  ribald  laughter.  The  washer 
women  sprang  to  their  feet,  gathered  hastily  into 
their  arms  the  scattered  garments,  seized  by  the 
hands  the  children. 

"Jacques  le  Noir  and  his  men!  Get  out  of  their 
way!  Jesu!  What  a  world  where  your  own  side 
tramples  and  abuses  —  " 

They  turned  up  the  stream,  quarrelling  as  they 
went.  With  them  and  the  children  went  the  jongleur 

298 


THE  SAFFRON  GROSS 

and  the  herd-girl,  all  faring  along  the  bank  together, 
in  the  mist  that  was  now  being  torn  by  golden 
arrows.  One  of  the  women,  with  a  load  of  wet,  half- 
washed  clothing,  let  fall  a  part  of  the  burden..  The 
herd-girl,  stooping,  gathered  it  up.  "1*11  help  you 
here,  sister!"  A  child  struck  its  foot  against  a  stone, 
fell,  and  began  to  cry.  The  jongleur  lifted  him  to  his 
shoulder.  Behind  them  they  heard  Jacques  le  Noir 
splash  with  his  horsemen  into  the  stream.  The 
washerwomen  and  the  two  from  Roche-de-Frene 
went  on  like  one  family  or  like  old  acquaintances, 
and  so  came  into  the  thickly  peopled  camp  of  the 
followers  of  Cap-du-Loup  and  his  fighting  men. 

The  sun  was  now  risen.  The  pied  and  various 
world  in  which  they  found  themselves  had  break 
fasted  or  was  breakfasting.  Noise  prevailed,  self- 
wrought  into  some  kind  of  harmony.  Here  were 
women,  soldiers'  and  others'  wives,  and  frank  har 
lots,  and  here  were  children,  seraphic,  impish,  and 
all  between.  Here  harboured  men  of  sorts,  men  who 
cared  for  horses,  were  smiths,  menders  of  harness 
and  armour,  fitters  of  lance-heads  to  lances,  fletchers 
of  arrows.  Here  were  barber-surgeons,  cooks,  and 
servitors  of  servitors.  Sutlers  and  merchants  of 
small  wares  showed  both  men  and  women,  as  did  also 
the  amusement-mongers.  There  abounded  folk  of 
nondescript  and  uncertain  trades,  or  of  no  trades 
at  all,  mere  followers  and  feeders,  a  true  rabble. 
And  there  were  gamesters  and  cunning  thieves. 

Elias  of  Montaudon  and  Jael  the  herd  came  into 
299 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

this  throng  in  the  company  of  the  women  who  had 
washed  by  the  brook  of  Saint  Laurent.  The  air  was 
yet  hung  with  mist-wreaths ;  they  entered  with  these 
about  them,  and  none  took  especial  notice. 

The  washerwomen  did  not  stray  from  the  brook. 
Down  they  flung  their  half-washed,  wet,  and  drip 
ping  loads,  and  complained  loudly  to  any  who  would 
listen  of  Jacques  le  Noir  and  his  demon  band.  Some 
listened,  some  did  not;  the  most  had  recitals  of  their 
own.  Voices  sprang  like  grass-blades,  were  con 
founded.  .  .  .  With  the  others  Jael  threw  upon  the 
ground  her  load,  Elias  set  down  the  child  he  had 
carried.  Then  in  the  confusion  they  went  away, 
leaving  without  staying  word  or  hand  the  group  that 
had  brought  them  thus  far.  They  followed  the  brook 
Saint  Laurent  and  they  passed  many  folk,  buried  in 
their  own  concerns.  To  an  eye  not  observant  be 
yond  a  certain  point,  the  two  would  seem  a  loitering 
couple  of  the  camp,  vacant  and  idly  straying,  being 
set  at  the  moment  to  no  task.  None  greeted  them  as 
acquaintances  —  but  there  seemed  here  no  eye  to 
note  that  fact.  Units  and  groups  shifted  like  the  bits 
of  glass  in  a  kaleidoscope.  Continually  the  tube  was 
shaken  and  there  came  up  new  arrangements.  The 
two  went  on,  and  none  saw  in  them  wandering 
bodies  from  outer  and  hostile  space,  pursuing  a 
course  athwart  the  field  of  the  kaleidoscope.  .  .  .  The 
mist  was  gone,  the  sun  poured  light ;  looking  back, 
they  saw  Roche-de-Frene,  indeed,  but  always 
farther,  farther  from  them. 

300 


THE  SAFFRON   CROSS 

They  approached  the  edge  of  the  camp-followers' 
demesne.  It  frayed  out  among  trees  and  gullies 
and  heaps  of  refuse.  Presently  came  a  strip  of  bare 
earth,  recently  burned  over,  licked  clean  by  the 
flame,  and  desert  of  human  works  or  being.  Beyond, 
flung  widely,  grey  reefs  across  their  way,  were  sol 
diers'  tents.  Jael  the  herd's  lips  moved.  "Come 
down,  for  a  minute,  into  this  hollow  where  none  will 


see." 


Descending  a  miniature  slope,  they  stood  in  a 
narrow  space  between  walls  of  parched  earth.  The 
camp  behind  them,  the  camp  before  them,  sank  ab 
ruptly  from  view,  though  the  sound  of  each  re 
mained.  Roche-de-Frene  sank  from  view;  they  were 
roofed  by  the  blue  sky.  A  lizard  ran  from  stone  to 
stone;  a  wind,  circling  the  place,  lifted  into  air  dead 
leaves  and  particles  of  earth.  The  herd -girl,  seating 
herself,  opened  the  scrip  that  she  carried.  The  jon 
gleur  watched  her  take  from  it  something  at  which 
he  started.  It  was  a  piece  of  saffron-coloured  cloth, 
cut  in  the  shape  of  a  cross.  The  upright  measured 
near  two  feet,  it  and  the  arms  had  a  palm's  breadth. 
The  next  thing  that  she  did  was  to  find  a  needle  and 
thread;  then  she  took  her  frieze  mantle,  and  after 
an  instant  of  looking  into  the  pure,  deep  heavens, 
began  to  fasten  upon  the  mantle  the  saffron  cross. 

Garin  held  his  breath.  Holy  Church  had  many 
penances  for  erring  souls,  and  the  most  were  ac 
quiesced  in  with  the  least  possible  inner  pain,  and 
some  were  dreaded,  and  a  few  were  direfully  dreaded, 

301 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

shudderingly  looked  upon.  The  most  were  burden 
some  but  matter-of-fact ;  some  gave  the  weak  flesh 
sharp  pain,  but  did  not  necessarily  humble  one  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  and  the  neighbours.  A  certain 
number  had  for  label,  Humiliation,  and  they  were 
dreaded.  A  few  were  more  sinister  than  these, 
frightening  the  imagination.  One  or  two  brought 
a  dark  terror,  dark  and  cold.  These  did  not  partake 
of  the  nature  of  prostrations,  or  of  prayers  in  multi 
plied  repetition,  or  of  flagellations,  or  pilgrimages, 
or  amercement  of  goods.  Flagellation  was  of  tempo 
rary  account ;  pilgrimages  a  way  to  see  the  world  as 
well  as  to  wipe  out  sin ;  loss  in  money  and  land  a  seri 
ous  thing,  God  knew!  but  though  bitter,  without 
ignominy.  None  of  these  came  under  the  same  sky 
with  excommunication,  which  was  not  penance,  but 
doom  and  living  death!  But  to  wear  a  cross  like 
this  came  under  the  same  sky. 

It  carried  no  physical  pain  with  it,  nor  imprison 
ment  within  material  walls.  Of  itself,  it  did  not  dip 
into  the  purse,  or  shear  away  house  and  land.  Of 
itself,  it  did  not  say,  "Leave  your  home,  penitent, 
and  wander  to  many  a  shrine,  know  many  calvaries ! " 
Incidentally  it  might  have  come  after  —  most  often 
it  did  come  after  —  these  lesser  things.  It  was 
rarely  bound,  like  the  mark  of  Cain,  upon  the  young 
in  offending.  It  came  somewhat  rarely  upon  any 
but  the  poor.  So  long  as  there  was  any  wealth  there 
might  be  compounding  for  something  less  than  the 
millstone.  ...  It  was  not  likely  to  be  imposed  for 

302 


THE  SAFFRON  CROSS 

any  less  time  than  a  long,  long  while.  Perhaps  it  was 
worn  for  years,  perhaps  they  died  wearing  it.  It 
weighed  hardly  anything  materially,  but  it  weighed 
life  down.  The  people  regarded  it  with  superstitious 
horror.  It  said,  "Lo,  shadow  and  substance  of  sin 
that  may  hardly  be  pardoned !  Lo,  here  the  Obdu 
rate,  the  Ancient  and  Resigned  to  the  Prince  of  the 
Power  of  the  Air  —  preserved  that  ye  may  see  —  set 
aside  in  the  midst  of  you  that  ye  may  know!  Not 
to  be  touched,  not  to  be  dealt  with  in  pleasant, 
human  ways  —  any  more  than  a  leper!" 

Garin  looked.  His  face  had  paled  beneath  the 
stain  applied  by  the  true  Elias.  "Ah!"  he  said, 
"what  people  of  the  future  comes,  my  Lady  Audiart, 
from  such  as  you!" 

The  other  stood  up,  her  sewing  finished.  She  drew 
the  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  right  arm  and 
side  showed  the  saffron  cross.  Her  dark  eyes  met 
Garin's.  "Now  you  are  my  brother.  We  are  twin, 
and  Saint  Peter  himself  would  not  have  you  utterly 
forsake  me!  Let  us  go." 

They  came  out  from  the  crack  in  the  earth  and 
proceeded  to  cross  the  burned  strip.  All  in  all,  they 
had  now  penetrated  some  distance  in  the  dragon's 
field.  When  they  looked  over  their  shoulder,  Roche- 
de-Frene  yet  showed  with  grandeur  in  the  morning 
light,  against  the  south-east  quarter  of  a  fleckless 
sky.  But  it  showed  as  somewhat  distant.  .  .  .  Garin 
understood  now  that  they  were  to  cross  the  dragon's 
field,  to  leave  it  behind  them,  to  escape  as  quickly 

303 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

as  might  be  from  its  poisonous  breath,  from  the  reach 
of  its  talons.  He  saw  also  that,  danger-grown  as  was 
their  path  of  travel,  it  was  the  least  so  that  should 
have  been  taken  from  the  beleaguered  place.  The 
dragon  lay  here,  too,  but  not,  perhaps,  the  brain  nor 
eyes  of  him. 

The  day  shone  bright  and  cool.  Directly  ahead 
a  large  campfire  yet  smoked  and  smouldered,  and 
right  and  left  of  it  and  beyond  grew  the  somewhat 
tattered  tents  of  Cap-du-Loup's  force.  In  the  as 
sault,  on  the  way  to  the  assault,  Cap-du-Loup  drove 
his  men  like  a  storm.  At  other  times  he  let  them 
live  as  they  would. 

There  were  Free  Companions,  a  score  or  so, 
around  the  fire.  These  caught  sight  of  the  two  upon 
the  burned  and  blackened  strip  between  them  and 
the  followers'  camp.  There  was  passage  to  and  fro, 
as  the  gods  of  license  knew!  Many  figures  of  the 
world  strayed  almost  at  will,  found  lanes  enough 
through  the  loose  warp  of  the  time's  armies.  A 
woman  and  a  jongleur  might  find  a  groove,  so  easy, 
so  worn  —  There  were,  however,  toll-gates. 

Men  who  had  been  lying  on  the  ground  sat  up. 
''Come  across!  Come  across!"  called  one.  Another 
rose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  touch  first,  so  claim  first. 
A  third  sprang  up,  ran  after,  but  a  young  giant, 
starting  fourth,  outstripped  him,  gained  on  the  first. 
The  men  had  been  idle  after  a  night's  sleep.  Break 
fast  of  goat's  flesh  and  bread  was  digested,  the  slight 
enough  camp  tasks  disposed  of,  after  which  came 

304 


THE  SAFFRON   CROSS 

idleness  and  yawning.  Cap-du-Loup  meant  to  join 
Aimeric  the  Bastard  in  a  night  attack  upon  Roche- 
de-Frene's  western  gate,  and  until  then  the  storm 
slept.  The  Free  Companions  were  ready  for  move 
ment,  enterprise,  deviltry.  They  rose  from  the  ashy 
fire,  and  finding  pleasure  in  stretching  of  the  limbs, 
raced  after  their  fellows.  The  distance  was  a  pygmy 
one ;  immediately  they  were  at  their  goal  —  the 
giant  just  the  first. 

He  put  his  hands  upon  the  woman.  "Come,  my 
mie  —  come,  my  jewel!"  The  one  who  had  started 
first  began  to  clamour  that  he  was  first ;  there  arose 
a  noise  as  from  any  brute  pack.  The  giant,  dragged 
at  by  his  fellows,  half  turned,  turning  with  him  her 
he  grasped.  The  saffron  cross  came  into  view. 

The  Free  Companion's  hands  dropped.  He,  and 
every  man  as  he  saw  it,  gave  back.  The  recoil  left 
black  earth  between  them  and  Jael  and  Elias.  Quar 
relling  and  laughter  alike  sank.  Here  was  neither 
wooing  nor  taking,  but  a  hand  stole  down,  picked  up 
a  stone  and  threw  it.  It  struck  her,  then  she  spoke. 
"Leave  to  the  cross  them  who  wear  it,  brave  sol 
diers!" 

The  giant  came  from  a  hamlet  that  tilled  Abbey 
fields,  and  he  was  wise  beyond  his  fellows  in  what  the 
Church  said.  Moreover  he  was  by  nature  unresistant 
to  Authority.  It  was  not  he  who  had  thrown  the 
stone,  and  now  he  struck  down  the  arm  of  one  who 
gathered  a  second  missile.  "Abbot  Arnaut  told  us 
we  mustn't  ever  do  that!  If  you  do,  God  the 

305 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Father '11  lengthen  your  score  —  burn  you  a  year 
longer  in  Purgatory ! ' ' 

"It's  the  serpent  of  sin.  —  Naught's  doing  but 
stoning!" 

"You  can't  strike  man  or  woman  when  they've 
touched  sanctuary!  Yellow  cross's  a  kind  of  sanc 
tuary—" 

The  giant  found  some  upon  his  side.  "That's 
true!  Father  Andrew  preached  a  sermon  about  it, 
Saint  John  Baptist's  day!  —  You  don't  break  into 
a  house  marked  for  plague.  Holy  Church  says, 
'This  cross's  my  seal.  I  punish,  and  don't  you  be 
trying  to  better  it!'" 

"That's  true!  Holy  Church  says,  'Have  no  com 
munion,  for  good  or  for  ill !  Here  is  something  fearful 
and  not  like  it  was  mortal ! ' ' 

The  black  earth  widened  about  Jael  and  Elias. 
"What  is  the  man  doing  with  her?"  cried  the  first 
runner. 

Another  yet  more  reckless  lifted  voice.  "Is  a 
jongleur  to  be  a  heathen  and  we  can't?  Is  he  to  give 
the  dare  to  a  Free  Companion?" 

Despite  the  giant  and  those  backing  him,  the 
pack  came  nearer,  narrowing  the  black  mark.  Garin 
spoke.  He  was  accustomed  to  lead  and  command 
men,  fusing  their  will  with  his.  Use  gave  him  power 
here  also,  though  they  that  he  faced  knew  not  what 
it  was.  And  he  had  other  powers  over  men  and  him 
self.  He  spoke.  "Good  soldiers!  I  am  her  brother, 
twin  with  her,  and  I  had  a  vision  that  I  was  not 

306 


THE  SAFFRON  CROSS 

utterly  to  forsake  her.  The  priest  said  that  I  was  to 
mind  it."  He  brought  his  lute  forward,  and  as  he 
spoke  he  drew  from  the  strings  notes  of  wistfulness 
and  beauty.  "So  we  started  many  months  ago,  on 
a  pilgrimage  from  Pont-de-Lys  in  Limousin  (for  we 
are  of  Limousin)  to  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene. 
And  after  that  we  fared  on  a  long  way  to  the  north, 
to  the  famous  shrine  of  Saint  Thomas  in  Burgundy." 
He  was  playing  very  sweetly,  notes  of  unearthly 
tenderness  and  melancholy.  "There  the  vision  came 
again  and  told  me  to  return  the  way  we  had  come  to 
Limousin,  and  then,  without  rest,  to  go  on  pilgrim 
age  to  Saint  James,  the  brother  of  the  Lord,  at  Com- 
postella." 

He  changed  and  deepened  the  strain  until  it  had 
solemnity,  became  music  played  in  churches.  "She 
speaks  not  often  to  me,  nor  I  to  her.  She  touches 
me  not,  and  I  touch  not  her.  But  the  vision  said, 
'Go  with  her  to  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene,  and 
then  to  the  shrine  of  Saint  Thomas';  and  then  it 
said,  'Turn  and  go  with  her  to  Compostella.'  The 
priest  said,  'Obey  that  which  spoke  to  you,  and  It 
will  see  that  you  are  not  hindered.'"  His  lips  shut. 
He  had  spoken  in  a  voice  that  he  knew  how  to  use 
so  as  to  bring  the  heart  into  acquiescence,  and  his 
fingers  still  spoke  on,  upon  the  strings  of  the  lute. 

The  half-ring  parted.  It  felt  horror  of  the  saffron 
cross,  but,  strange  to  itself,  it  also  now  felt  pity  and 
an  impulse  to  help.  Its  ill  passion  fell  cold  and  dead. 
Sufficiently  swift  and  deep  and  for  sufficiently  long 

307 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   GARIN 

time  came  the  change.  Whether  there  was  respon 
sible  some  saint,  or  suggestion,  or  these  beings* 
proper  motion,  here  was  what  answered  for  miracle. 
The  giant  was  the  spokesman. 

"  The  way  is  clear  so  far  as  we  are  named !  Go  on, 
poor  soul,  and  brother  jongleur,  and  maybe  there's 
a  star  somewhere  to  shine  for  you !  —  Nay,  I  '11  go 
before  and  see  that  no  man  of  Cap-du-Loup  breaks 
sanctuary  —  no,  nor  harms  you,  jongleur!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CAP-DU-LOUP 

THE  giant  was  a  Saint  Christopher  to  Jael  and  Elias. 
He  was  great  of  height  and  bulk,  feared  for  his 
strength  and  liked  because  of  a  broad  simplicity  and 
good-nature,  apparent  when  he  was  not  angry  or 
hot  in  the  midst  of  allowed  slaughter  and  rapine. 
For  the  saffron  cross  and  the  jongleur  he  proved, 
this  day,  the  right  convoy. 

Cap-du-Loup  had  two  hundred  knights  and  a 
thousand  fighting  men.  The  knights'  encampment 
they  did  not  approach ;  it  lay  to  the  west,  neighbour 
ing  the  Lord  of  Chalus's  quarter.  But  they  went 
by,  they  went  between,  the  tents  and  booths  of  the 
thousand  men. 

These  shouted  to  them,  these  stopped  them,  these 
ran  from  farther  tents.  "Game!  Game!"  Cap-du- 
Loup's  men  cried.  "Leveret!  leveret!  leveret!"  — 
then  saw  the  cross  that  the  woman  wore.  It  was  a 
weapon  to  halt  snatching  hands,  a  spell  to  wither  the 
lust  in  men's  eyes.  And  when  the  heat  turned  to 
cold,  and  where,  as  twice  again  happened,  another 
zeal  sprang  up  and  there  threatened  stoning,  came 
in  the  giant's  voice  and  arm,  making  room  for  the 
jongleur's  voice  and  hand  upon  the  strings.  .  .  . 
Thrice-guarded,  the  two  from  Roche-de-Frene 

309 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

threaded  the  camp  of  Cap-du-Loup.  It  was  noon 
now,  and  autumn  sunshine  thick  about  them.  In 
broad  day  they  passed  the  folds  of  the  dragon,  and 
then  by  a  ruined  house,  cold  and  vacant  as  clay, 
they  met  with  suddenness  Cap-du-Loup. 

The  giant  was  afraid.  "  Little  Mother  of  God, 
take  care  of  us!"  he  said  and  caught  his  breath. 

Cap-du-Loup  was  neither  tall  nor  stout  of  build  ; 
he  was  rusty-red  and  small,  but  he  could  fright 
the  giant,  hold  him  knock-kneed.  "What  are  you 
doing,  Jean  le  Geant,  wandering  with  hellfroth  such 
as  these?" 

Jean  le  Geant  answered  like  a  child,  telling  all  the 
why  and  wherefore. 

"Begone  where  you  kennel!"  said  Cap-du-Loup, 
when  he  had  made  an  end.  "You  two,  who  came 
from  Burgundy,  what  talk  is  made  there  of  this 
war?" 

He  sat  on  a  stone  in  the  noon  light,  behind  him  a 
black  and  broken  wall,  and  questioned  the  jongleur. 
He  had  looked  once  at  the  figure  wrapped  in  frieze 
whereon  was  sewed  a  saffron  cross.  The  woman 
seemed  young,  but  the  mantle  was  hooded,  and  that 
and  the  black  hair  astream  about  her  face  —  She 
appeared  dark  as  a  Saracen  and  without  beauty,  and 
the  cross  did  put  a  ring  about  her  and  a  pale,  cold 
light  .  .  .  Cap-du-Loup,  who  came  from  Burgundy, 
—  though  that  had  never  interfered  with  the  sale  of 
his  services  to  any  high-bidding  foe  of  Burgundy,  — 
turned  to  the  jongleur.  "What  talk  is  there?" 

310 


CAP-DU-LOUP 

"Lord,  as  you  know,  the  barons  there  have  wars 
of  their  own!  But  I  played  upon  a  time  in  a  hall 
where  afterwards  I  listened  to  the  talk  of  knights. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  they  inclined  to  Roche-de- 
Frene.  But  what  do  I  know?'* 

"Did  any  speak  of  me?" 

"Lord,  one  was  talking  with  a  great  merchant  of 
Italy  who  was  present.  He  said,  'There  is  a  bold 
captain  of  Burgundy,  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup,  with 
Montmaure.  He  had  been  wiser,  methinks,  to  have 
taken  his  sword  to  Roche-de-Frene!  If  Aquitaine 
drops  off—'" 

"Wait  there ! "  cried  Cap-du-Loup.  " What  colour 
did  they  give  for  Aquitaine  ceasing  from  us?" 

"  None,  lord,  that  I  heard.  I  heard  no  more,"  said 
Elias,  "for  I  went  out  in  the  night  to  give  my  sister 
bread." 

"Jean  the  foolish  giant  has  said  that  you  went 
first  from  Limousin  to  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de- 
Frene.  When  were  you  in  Roche-de-Frene?" 

"Lord,  at  Pentecost,  before  the  siege  began." 

"What  did  you  think,  jongleur,  of  that  town  and 
castle?" 

Cap-du-Loup  looked  at  what  he  spoke  of,  lifted 
before  them,  shimmering  in  the  light.  Montmaure 
was  attacking  at  the  eastern  gate.  A  noise  as  of  dull 
thunder  rolled  over  the  plain. 

"Lord,"  said  the  jongleur,  "there  are  fellows  of 
my  art,  who,  to  please,  would  say  '  a  poor  town  and 
a  trembling  castle!'  But  I  think  that  you  are  not 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

such  an  one,  but  a  man  who  greets  with  valiancy 
bare  truth!  To  my  apprehension,  lord,  it  seemed  a 
great  town  and  a  strong  castle." 

"It  is  God's  truth!"  said  Cap-du-Loup,  who  for 
two  months  had  received  no  pay  for  himself  nor  for 
his  men.  "At  Pentecost  the  old  prince  yet  lived. 
Saw  you  Audiart?" 

"Lord,  it  was  said  that  she  was  at  mass  one  day 
when  we  stood  without  the  church.  When  ladies 
and  knights  came  forth  some  one  cried,  'Audiart!' 
and  I  saw  her,  as  it  were  among  clouds." 

"They  say  that  she  pays  well  and  steadily. — 
Holy  Virgin!"  said  Cap-du-Loup,  "I  would  that 
Count  Jaufre,  who  is  to  be  her  lord  and  husband, 
would  take  ensample!" 

He  spoke  in  a  barking  tone,  and  grew  redder  and 
fiercer.  His  small  eyes  without  lashes  looked  at 
Elias  of  Montaudon  as  though  he  had  suddenly  re 
membered  to  call  one  to  break  the  lute  of  the  faineant 
and  cudgel  him  deep  into  the  camp  to  wait  on  men 
who  fought!  But  perhaps  the  jongleur's  remember 
ing  the  words  ''bold  captain  of  Burgundy,"  or  his 
knowing  character  and  that  Cap-du-Loup  was  not 
afraid  of  false  or  true,  saved  lute  and  shoulders. 
Perhaps  it  was  something  else,  wolves  being  softened 
long  ago  by  Orpheus.  Or  the  giant's  stammered 
explanation  before,  frightened,  he  went  away,  may 
have  worked,  or  the  pale,  cold  light  about  the  woman 
have  touched,  to  Cap-du-Loup's  perception,  her 
brother  also.  Perhaps  it  was  something  of  all  of 

312 


CAP-DU-LOUP 

these.  However  that  may  be,  Cap-du-Loup  stared 
at  Roche-de-Frene  against  the  sky,  and,  not  for  the 
first  time  of  late,  thought  to  himself  that,  all  things 
being  equal  and  Montmaure  less  strong  by  certain 
divisions  than  was  the  case,  then  a  man  would  be  a 
fool  to  come  into  his  service  rather  than  into  that  of 
the  banner  yonder!  Then  he  somewhat  lost  himself, 
listening  to  Count  Jaufre's  battering  the  town's 
eastern  gate. 

Jael  and  Elias,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
ruined  house,  listened,  too,  and  with  the  eye  of  the 
mind  saw  the  attack  and  the  defenders.  .  .  . 

Cap-du-Loup  rose  from  his  stone,  spoke  to  the 
jongleur.  "If  I  have  passed  you,  all  shall  pass  you. 
If  they  stop  you,  tell  them  to  come  speak  with  Cap- 
du-Loup!"  With  that,  and  with  a  wolf-like  sud 
denness,  both  fierce  and  stealthy,  he  was  gone. 

Jael  and  Elias,  in  the  shadow  of  the  black  wall, 
saw  him  one  moment,  then  a  cairn-like  heap  of  stones 
came  between.  ...  It  was  after  the  noon  hour; 
though  it  was  late  autumn  the  southern  land  blazed 
light.  Into  their  ears  came  the  rhythmic  dash  and 
recoil  of  the  distant  conflict,  came,  too,  the  nearer 
buzz  and  hum,  the  sharp,  discrete  noises  of  the  en 
campment  whose  edge  they  had  gained.  They  saw 
that  they  were  upon  its  edge,  and  that  before  them 
lay  a  road  less  crowded.  This  they  took.  At  first 
men  were  about  them,  but  these  had  seen  them  with 
Cap-du-Loup  and  disturbed  them  not.  A  trumpet 
blew  and  a  drum  was  beat,  and  the  Free  Compan- 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

ions  hurried  to  the  sound.  The  two  quickened  their 
steps;  they  took  advantage;  before  the  diversion  of 
vision  and  attention  was  ended,  they  were  clear  of 
the  camp  of  Gaultier  Cap-du-Loup. 

Right  and  left  lay  the  host  of  Montmaure,  but 
ahead  was  rough,  sharp,  and  broken  ground,  where 
horsemen  might  not  manage  their  horses  and  dis 
liked  by  men  without  steeds.  Here  was  a  bend  of 
the  brook  Saint  Laurent,  and  ground  stony  and 
sterile  or  ashen  and  burned  over.  The  dragon  pos 
sessed  the  wide  plain ;  he  drew  water  from  the  stream 
where  he  wished  it,  but  for  the  rest  left  unoccupied 
this  northward-drawn  rough  splinter  of  the  world. 
.  .  .  The  two  saw  an  outpost,  a  sentinel  camp,  but 
it  was  intent  upon  the  crescendo  of  battle-sound 
pouring  from  Roche-de-Frene,  and  upon  what 
might  be  the  meaning  of  Cap-du-Loup's  calling 
trumpets.  Jael  and  Elias  slipped  by,  in  the  dry  sun 
shine,  beneath  the  brow  of  a  hill,  like  a  brace  of 
tinted,  wind-blown  leaves. 

After  this  they  came  into  a  solitude.  It  had  not 
been  always  so,  for  here  the  rough  ground  fell  away, 
Saint  Laurent  bent  his  stream  like  a  sickle,  and  once 
had  been  bright  fields  and  graceful  vineyards.  Here 
had  stood  many  small  houses  of  peasants  who  had 
tilled  their  fields,  tended  their  vineyards,  brought 
the  produce  and  sold  it  to  Roche-de-Frene,  trudg 
ing  through  life,  often  in  the  shadow  and  often 
in  the  sun.  Now  death  only  lived  and  abode  and, 
black-winged,  visited  the  fields.  All  things  were 

314 


GAP-DU-LOUP 

cut  down,  charred,  and  withered.  The  people  were 
gone,  and  where  had  been  houses  stood  ruins. 

The  herd -girl  sighed  as  she  walked.  Once  the 
jongleur  saw  her  weeping. 

It  lasted  a  long  way,  this  black  swath  beneath 
the  sun.  It  led  them  out  of  the  dragon's  immediate 
field,  away  from  his  mailed  and  glittering  coils. 
The  dragon  lay  well  behind  them,  his  eyes  upon 
Roche-de-Frene.  Roche-de-Frene  itself,  now,  was 
distant. 

But  the  venom  of  the  dragon  had  been  spread 
wherever  his  length  had  passed.  Not  alone  here, 
by  the  brook  Saint  Laurent,  but  all  around  now,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see,  stretched  blackening  and 
desolation.  All  was  overcovered  with  the  writing  of 
war.  The  princess  of  the  land  had  ceased  to  weep. 
She  viewed  ruin  with  the  face  of  a  sibyl. 

In  the  mid-afternoon  they  came  upon  knights 
resting  by  a  great  stone,  in  a  ring  of  trees  with  russet 
leaves.  These  hailed  the  jongleur  and  the  woman 
with  him  —  when  they  saw  what  manner  of  peni 
tent  was  the  latter  they  crossed  themselves  and  let 
her  stay  without  the  ring,  seated  among  stones  some 
distance  from  it.  But  they  and  their  squires  lis 
tened  to  Garin's  singing. 

He  sang  for  them  a  many  songs,  for  when  one  was 
done  they  clamoured  for  another.  Then  they  gave 
him  largesse,  and  would  have  constrained  him  to 
turn  and  go  with  them  to  the  host  of  Montmaure, 
where  would  be  employment  enough,  since  Count 

315 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

Jaufre  nor  no  one  else  had  many  jongleurs  of  such 
voice  and  skill !  Though  they  knew  it  not,  voice  and 
skill  served  him  again  when  he  turned  them  from 
constraining  to  agreement  to  let  him  go  his  way,  on 
pilgrimage  with  her  who  sat  among  the  stones.  They 
made  him  sing  again,  and  then,  as  all  rested,  they 
asked  questions  as  to  the  host  through  which  he  had 
come.  He  knew,  from  this  dropped  word  and  that, 
that  they  were  knights  of  Aquitaine,  riding  to  join 
that  same  Jaufre. 

With  their  squires  they  numbered  but  twelve  in 
all.  Food  and  wine  were  taken  from  the  lading  of  a 
sumpter  mule  and  placed  upon  the  ground.  They 
gave  the  jongleur  a  generous  portion,  consented  to 
his  bearing  to  the  penitent  of  the  cross,  the  Unfor 
tunate  his  sister,  portion  of  his  portion.  Returned, 
he  asked  of  one  of  the  squires  with  whom  he  ate, 
where  was  Duke  Richard?  He  was  at  Excideuil. 

"They  say,"  said  the  jongleur,  "that  he  and 
Count  Jaufre  laugh  and  sigh  in  the  same  moment." 

"It  was  once  so,"  answered  the  squire  and  drank 
wine. 

"Is  't  not  so  now?" 

The  other  put  down  the  wine  cup.  "Did  you 
make  poesy,  jongleur,  as  well  as  you  sing  it,  I  could 
give  you  subjects!  Songs  of  Absence,  now.  Songs 
of  a  subtile  vapour  called  Difference,  that  while  you 
turn  your  head  becomes  thick  and  hard!  —  Perhaps 
they  think  that  they  yet  laugh  and  sigh  in  the  same 
moment." 


GAP-DU-LOUP 

''One  must  be  near  a  man  to  see  the  colour  of  his 
soul." 

"Aye,  so!  —  The  knight  I  serve  —  him  with  the 
grey  in  his  beard  —  is  of  Richard's  household." 

"  I  have  sung  in  this  court  and  sung  in  that,"  said 
Elias  of  Montaudon,  "but  chances  it  so  that  never 
I  saw  Duke  Richard!" 

"He  paints  leopards  on  his  shield  —  they  call  him 
Lion-Heart  —  he  is  good  at  loving,  good  at  hating 
—  he  means  to  do  well  and  highly  —  but  the  passions 
of  men  are  legion." 

"I  stake  all,"  said  the  jongleur,  "on  his  being  a 
nobler  knight  than  is  Count  Jaufre!" 

"My  gold  with  yours,  brother,"  answered  the 
squire,  and  poured  more  wine. 

"And  he  is  at  Excideuil?" 

"At  Excideuil.  He  builds  a  great  castle  there,  but 
his  heart  builds  at  going  overseas  and  saving  again 
the  Holy  Sepulchre!" 

There  was  a  silence.  "He  can  then,"  said  Elias  of 
Montaudon,  "be  sought  through  the  imagination." 

"I  know  not  wholly  what  you  mean  by  that," 
said  the  squire.  "  But  when  he  was  made  knight  and 
watched  his  armour,  he  watched,  with  other  mat 
ters,  some  sort  of  generosity." 

The  sun  poured  slanting  rays,  making  the  world 
ruddy.  The  knights,  having  rested  and  refreshed 
themselves,  would  get  to  horse,  press  on  so  as  to 
reach  the  host  before  curfew.  The  ring  beneath  the 
tinted  trees  broke.  The  squires  hastened,  brought 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

the  horses  from  the  deeper  wood.  All  mounted, 
turned  toward  the  south  and  Montmaure. 

"Farewell,  Master  Jongleur,  Golden- Voice !" 
cried  the  eldest  knight.  "Come  one  day  to  the 
castles  of  Aquitaine!"  Another  flung  him  silver 
further  than  had  yet  been  given.  —  They  were  gone. 
Almost  instantly  they  must  round  a  hill  —  the  sight 
of  them  failed,  the  earth  between  smothered  the 
sound  of  their  horses'  going,  and  of  their  own  voices. 
Ere  the  sun  dipped  the  solitude  was  again  solitude. 

Garin  joined  the  princess  where  she  sat  among  the 
stones.  She  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hands,  watching 
the  great  orb  and  all  the  scape  of  clouds.  "  Did  they 
tell  you  where  Richard  is  to  be  found?" 

"He  is  to  be  found  at  Excideuil.  I  spoke  with  a 
seeing  man,  and  this  is  what  he  said." 

He  repeated  what  had  been  said. 

' '  So ! "  said  the  princess.   ' '  Let  us  be  going. ' ' 

They  walked  until  the  red  dusk  had  given  way  to 
brown  dusk  and  darkness  was  close  at  hand.  She 
spoke  only  once,  and  then  she  said,  "You.  also  are 
a  seeing  man,  Elias  the  Jongleur!" 

A  ruined  wayside  shrine  appeared  before  them, 
topping  a  hill,  clear  against  the  pale,  cold,  remote 
purples  and  greens  of  the  west.  Their  path  mounted 
to  it;  they  found  all  about  it  quiet  and  lonely.  They 
talked  until  the  sky  was  filled  with  stars,  then  they 
wrapped  themselves  in  their  mantles  and  slept, 
stretched  upon  the  yet  warm  earth. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   ABBEY   OF  THE   FOUNTAIN 

MORNING  broke.  They  rose  and  travelled  on.  This 
day  they  passed  definitely  from  the  dragon's  present 
reach,  though  yet  they  were  in  lands  of  Roche-de- 
Fr£ne,  done  into  ruin  by  him,  poisoned  by  his  breath. 
Adventures  they  had,  perils  and  escapes.  These 
were  approached,  endured,  passed.  At  night  they 
came  to  a  hermit's  cell  where  was  no  hermit,  but  on 
a  stone  hearth  wood  ready  for  firing.  They  closed 
the  door,  struck  flint  and  steel,  had  presently  a  flame 
that  reddened  the  low  and  narrow  walls  and  gave 
the  two,  tired  and  cold,  much  comfort.  The  hermit's 
cupboard  was  found,  and  in  it  dried  fruit  and  pease 
and  a  pan  or  two  for  cooking.  Without  the  cell  was 
water,  a  bubbling  spring  among  moss  and  fern. 

The  night  was  dark  and  windy.  None  came  to 
strike  upon  the  hermit's  door,  no  human  voice  broke 
in  upon  them.  The  wind  shook  the  forest  behind  the 
cell  and  scoured  the  valley  in  front.  It  whistled 
around  their  narrow  refuge,  it  brought  at  intervals 
a  dash  of  rain  against  door  and  wall.  But  the  two 
within  were  warmed  and  fed,  and  they  found  an 
ocean-music  in  the  night.  It  rocked  them  in  their 
dreams,  it  soothed  like  a  lullaby.  The  princess 
dreamed  of  her  father,  and  that  they  were  reading 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

together  in  a  book;  then  that  changed,  and  it  was 
her  old,  old  nurse,  who  told  her  tales  of  elves  and 
fays.  Garin  dreamed  of  the  desert  and  then  of  the 
sea.  Dawn  came.  They  rekindled  their  fire  and  had 
spare  breakfast,  then  fared  forth  through  a  high 
and  stormy  world. 

Night  came,  day  came,  nights  and  days,  beads  of 
light  and  its  doings,  beads  of  dimness  and  rest.  They 
kept  no  list  of  the  dangers  they  entered  and  left,  of 
the  incidents  and  episodes  of  peril.  They  were  many, 
but  the  two  went  through  like  a  singing  shaft,  like 
a  shuttle  driven  by  the  hand  of  Genius.  Now  they 
were  forth  from  the  invaded  princedom,  now  they 
were  gone  from  fiefs  of  other  suzerains.  Where 
they  had  faced  north,  now  they  walked  with  the 
westering  sun. 

When  that  happened,  Jael  the  herd  wore  no  longer 
the  saffron  cross.  It  had  served  the  purpose,  carry 
ing  her  through  Montmaure's  host,  that  else  might 
not  have  let  a  woman  pass.  .  .  .  The  two  had  slept 
upon  leaves  in  an  angle  of  a  stone  wall,  on  the  edge 
of  a  coppice.  The  wall  ran  by  fields  unharmed  by 
war ;  they  were  out  from  the  shadow.  A  dawn  came 
up  and  unfolded  like  a  rose  of  glory.  The  coppice 
seemed  to  sleep,  the  air  was  so  still.  The  night  had 
been  dry,  and  for  the  season,  warm.  Cocks  crew  in 
the  distance,  birds  that  stayed  out  the  year  cheeped 
in  the  trees. 

The  herd-girl  took  her  frieze  mantle,  and,  sitting 
upon  a  stone,  broke  the  threads  that  bound  to  it  the 

320 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

Church's  stigma  and  seal.  The  jongleur  watched  her 
from  where  he  leaned  against  the  wall.  When  it 
was  free  from  the  mantle,  she  took  the  shaped  piece 
of  saffron-dyed  cloth  and  moving  from  the  stone 
kneeled  beside  their  fire  of  sticks  and  gave  it  to  the 
flame.  She  watched  it  consume,  then  stood  up.  "  It 
served  me,"  she  said.  "  I  know  not  if  it  ever  served 
any  upon  whom  it  was  truly  chained.  As  I  read  the 
story,  He  who  was  nailed  to  the  cross  had  a  spirit 
strong  and  merciful.  It  is  the  spirits  who  are  strong 
that  are  merciful." 

The  rose  in  the  east  grew  in  glory.  Colour  came 
into  the  land,  into  the  coppice,  and  to  the  small  vines 
and  ferns  in  their  niches  and  shrines  between  the 
stones.  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island  stood  in  green 
and  brown,  beside  him  the  red-ribboned  lute.  "As 
the  first  day  from  Roche-de-Frene,  so  now  again," 
said  Audiart,  "you  are  the  jongleur,  Elias  of  Mont- 
audon.  I  am  your  mie,  Jael  the  herd." 

"Your  will  is  mine,  Jael  the  herd,"  said  Garin. 

He  bent  and  extinguished  the  fire  of  sticks.  The 
two  went  on  together,  the  sun  behind  them.  .  .  . 
Once  Vulcan  had  had  a  stithy  in  this  country. 
Masses  of  dark  rock  were  everywhere,  old,  cooled 
lava,  dark  hills,  mountains  and  peaks.  Chestnut  and 
oak  ran  up  the  mountain-sides,  the  valleys  lay 
sunken,  there  was  a  silver  net  of  streams.  Ham 
lets  hid  beneath  hills,  village  and  middling  town 
climbed  their  sides,  castles  crowned  the  heights,  in 
vales  by  the  rivers  sat  the  monasteries.  The  region 

321 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

was  divided  between  smiling  and  frowning.  Its  alle 
giance  was  owed  to  a  lord  of  storms,  who,  in  his 
nature,  showed  now  and  then  a  broad  golden  beam. 
At  present  no  wild  beast  from  without  entered  the 
region  to  ravage;  there  it  smiled  secure.  But  Duke 
Richard  drained  it  of  money  and  men ;  its  own  kept 
it  poor.  He  drained  all  his  vast  duchy  and  fiefs  of  his 
duchy,  as  his  brothers  drained  their  lands  and  his 
father  drained  England.  They  were  driving  storms 
and  waters  that  whirled  and  drew ;  one  only  was  the 
stagnant  kind  that  sat  and  brewed  poison.  This 
region  was  a  corner  of  the  great  duke's  wide  lands, 
but  the  duke  helped  himself  from  its  purse,  and  the 
larger  number  of  its  men  were  gone  to  his  wars. 

But  for  all  that,  the  jongleur  and  the  herd-girl 
met  a  many  people  and  saw  towns  that  to  them  from 
Roche-de-Frene  seemed  at  ease,  relaxed,  and  light 
of  heart.  Baron  and  knight  and  squire  and  man 
were  gone  to  the  wars,  but  baron  and  knight  and 
squire  and  man,  for  this  reason,  for  that  reason,  re 
mained.  Castle  drawbridges  rested  down,  portcul 
lises  rusted  unlowered.  The  roads,  bad  though  they 
were,  had  peaceful  traffic ;  the  fields  had  been  har 
vested,  and  the  harvest  had  not  gone  to  feed  another 
world.  The  folk  that  remained  were  not  the  fiercer 
sort,  and  they  longed  for  amusement.  It  rested  not 
cold,  and  folk  were  out  of  doors.  The  country-side, 
mountain  and  hill  and  valley,  hung  softened,  stilled, 
wrapped  in  a  haze  of  purple-grey. 

Jongleur's  art,  human  voice  at  its  richest,  sweet- 

322 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

est,  most  expressive  —  such  was  wanted  wherever 
now  they  went.  They  had  jongleur's  freedom  in 
a  singing  time.  Travelling  on,  they  made  pause 
when  they  were  called  upon.  The  jongleur  sang  the 
heart  out  of  the  breast,  the  water  into  the  eyes,  high 
thoughts  and  resolves  into  the  upper  rooms  of  the 
nature.  The  dark-eyed,  still  girl,  his  companion  and 
mie,  sat  on  doorstep,  or  amid  the  sere  growth  of 
the  wayside,  or  stood  in  castle  hall  or  court,  or  in  the 
market-place  of  towns,  and  listened  with  the  rest  to 
the  singing  voice  and  the  song  that  it  uttered.  The 
few  about  them,  or  the  many  about  them,  sighed 
with  delight,  gave  pay  as  they  were  able,  and  al 
ways  would  have  had  the  jongleur  stay,  sing  on  the 
morrow,  and  the  morrow's  morrow.  But  jongleurs 
had  license  to  wander,  and  no  restlessness  of  theirs 
surprised.  Day  by  day  the  two  were  able,  after 
short  delays,  to  take  the  road  again. 

They  came  to  Excideuil. 

11  Is  the  duke  here?" 

"No.  He  was  here,  but  he  has  gone  to  Angou- 
leme." 

Elias  of  Montaudon  brought  that  news  to  Jael  the 
herd.  She  listened  with  a  steady  face.  "Very  well! 
In  ways,  that  suits  me  better.  There  are  those  at 
Angouleme  whom  I  know." 

The  jongleur  sang  in  the  market-place  of  Ex 
cideuil.  "Ah,  ah!"  cried  many,  "you  should  have 
been  here  when  our  duke  was  here!  He  had  a  day 
when  there  sang  six  troubadours,  and  the  prize  was 

323 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

a  cup  of  gold !  And  yet  no  troubadour  sang  so  well 
as  you  sing,  jongleur!" 

A  week  later,  crown  of  a  hill  before  them,  they 
saw  Angouleme.  The  morning  light  had  shown  frost 
over  the  fields,  but  now  the  sun  melted  that  silver 
film  and  the  day  was  a  sapphire.  Wall  and  battle 
ment,  churches,  castle,  brilliant  and  spear-like,  stood 
out  from  the  blue  dome:  beneath  spread  a  clear 
valley  and  clear  streams.  Other  heights  had  lesser 
castles,  and  the  valley  had  houses  of  the  poor.  Travel 
upon  the  road  thickened,  grew  more  various,  spiced 
with  every  class  and  occupation.  The  day  carried 
sound  easily,  and  there  was  more  sound  to  carry. 
Contacts  became  frequent,  and  these  were  now  with 
people  affected,  in  greater  or  less  degree,  by  the 
sojourn  in  Angouleme  of  Duke  Richard.  The  air 
knew  his  presence;  where  he  came  was  tension, 
energy  held  in  a  circumference.  From  the  two  that 
entered  Angouleme  spread  another  circle.  Garin 
felt  power  and  will  in  her  whom  he  walked  beside, 
felt  attention.  The  force  within  him  rose  to  meet 
hers  and  they  made  one. 

The  town  grew  larger  before  them,  walls  and 
towers  against  the  sky. 

"Ask  some  one,"  said  Audiart,  " where  is  the 
Abbey  of  the  Fountain?" 

He  asked. 

"The  Abbey  of  the  Fountain?"  answered  the 
man  whom  he  addressed.  "It  lies  the  other  side 
of  the  hill.  Go  through  the  town  and  out  at  the 

324 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

west  gate,  and  you  will  see  it  below  you,  among 
trees." 

They  climbed  the  hill  and  entered  Angouleme, 
thronged  with  life.  To  the  two  who  kept  the  pic 
ture  of  Roche-de-Frene,  wrapped  in  clouds  of  storm 
and  disaster,  Angouleme  might  appear  clad  like  a 
peacock,  untroubled  as  a  holiday  child.  Yet  was 
there  here  —  and  they  divined  that,  too  —  grum 
bling  and  soreness,  just  anger  against  Richard  the 
proud,  coupled  with  half-bitter  admiration.  Here 
was  wide  conflict  of  opinion  and  mood.  Life  pulsed 
strongly  in  Angouleme. 

Jongleur  and  herd-girl  threaded  the  town,  where 
were  many  jongleurs,  and  many  women  with  them 
lacking  church's  link.  They  regarded  the  castle,  and 
the  Leopard  banner  above  it.  "Richard,  Richard!" 
said  the  herd-girl,  "I  hope  that  a  manner  of  things 
are  true  that  I  have  heard  of  you!" 

They  came  to  the  west  gate  and  left  the  town  by 
it.  Immediately,  when  they  were  without  the  walls, 
they  saw  in  the  vale  beneath  groves  of  now  leafless 
trees  and,  surrounded  by  these,  the  Abbey  of  the 
Fountain.  Jael  the  herd  stood  still,  gazing  upon  it. 
"  I  had  a  friend  —  one  whom  I  liked  well,  and  who 
liked  me.  Now  she  is  abbess  here  —  the  Abbess 
Madeleine!  Let  us  go  down  to  the  Abbey  of  the 
Fountain,  and  see  what  we  shall  see." 

They  went  down  to  the  vale.  Great  trees  stretched 
their  arms  above  them.  A  stream  ran  diamonds  and 
made  music  as  it  went.  Now  there  came  to  Garin 

325 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

the  deep  sense  of  having  done  this  thing  before  —  of 
having  gone  with  the  Princess  Audiart  to  a  great 
house  of  nuns  —  though  surely  she  was  not  then  the 
Princess  Audiart.  .  .  .  He  ceased  to  struggle;  earthly 
impossibilities  seemed  to  dissolve  in  a  deeper  knowl 
edge.  He  laid  down  bewilderment  and  the  beating 
to  and  fro  of  thought ;  in  a  larger  world  thus  and  so 
must  be  true. 

Passing  through  a  gate  in  a  wall,  they  were  on 
Abbey  land,  nor  was  it  long  before  they  were  at  the 
Abbey  portal.  Beggars  and  piteous  folk  were  there 
before  them,  and  a  nun  giving  bread  to  these  through 
the  square  in  the  door.  Garin  and  Audiart  stood 
aside,  waiting  their  turn.  She  gazed  upon  him,  he 
upon  her. 

"  Came  you  ever  to  a  place  like  this,"  she  breathed, 
"in  green  and  brown  before?" 

"  I  think  that  it  is  so,  Jael  the  herd." 

"A  squire  in  brown  and  green?" 

He  nodded,  "Yes." 

Jael  the  herd  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  "Truth 
my  light!  but  our  life  is  deep!" 

The  mendicants  left  the  portal.  The  slide  closed, 
making  the  door  solid. 

"Wait  here,"  said  the  herd-girl.  "  I  will  go  knock. 
Wait  here  until  you  are  called." 

She  knocked,  and  the  panel  slid  back.  He  heard 
her  speaking  to  the  sister  and  the  latter  answer 
ing.  Then  she  spoke  again,  and,  after  a  moment 
of  hesitation,  the  door  was  opened.  She  entered;  it 

326 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

closed  after  her.  He  sat  down  on  a  stone  bench 
beside  the  portal  and  watched  the  lacework  of 
branches,  great  and  small,  over  the  blue.  A  cripple 
with  a  basket  of  fruit  sat  beside  him  and  began  to 
talk  of  jongleurs  he  had  heard,  and  then  of  the 
times,  which  he  said  were  hard.  With  his  lameness, 
something  in  him  brought  Foulque  to  Garin's  mind. 
"Oh,  ay!"  said  the  cripple,  " kings  and  dukes  make 
work,  but  dull  work  that  you  die  by  and  not  live  by ! 
The  court  will  buy  my  grapes,  but  —  "  He  shrugged, 
then  whistled  and  stretched  in  the  sun. 

"How  stands  Duke  Richard  in  your  eye?" 

The  cripple  offered  him  a  bunch  of  grapes. 
"Know  you  aught  that  could  not  be  better,  or  that 
could  not  be  worse?" 

"Well  answered ! "  said  Garin.  "  I  have  interest  in 
knowing  how  high  at  times  can  leap  the  better." 

"Higher  than  the  court  fool  thinks,"  said  the 
cripple.  He  sat  a  little  longer,  then  took  his  crutch 
and  his  basket  of  fruit  and  hobbled  away  toward  the 
town. 

Garin  waited,  musing.  An  hour  passed,  two  hours, 
then  the  panel  in  the  door  slid  back.  A  voice  spoke, 
"Jongleur,  you  are  to  enter." 

The  door  opened.  He  passed  through,  when  it 
closed  behind  him.  The  sister  slipped  before,  grey 
and  soundless  as  a  moth,  and  led  him  over  stone 
flooring  and  between  stone  walls,  out  of  the  widened 
space  by  the  Abbey  door,  through  a  corridor  that 
echoed  to  his  footfall,  subdue  his  footfall  as  he 

327 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

might.  This  ended  before  a  door  set  in  an  arch.  The 
grey  figure  knocked;  a  woman's  voice  within  an 
swered  in  Latin.  The  sister  pushed  the  door  open, 
stood  aside,  and  he  entered. 

This,  he  knew  at  once,  was  the  abbess's  room, 
then  saw  the  Abbess  Madeleine  herself,  and,  sitting 
beside  her,  that  one  whose  companion  he  had  been 
for  days  and  weeks.  The  herd-girl's  worn  dress  was 
still  upon  her,  but  she  sat  there,  he  saw,  as  the  Prin 
cess  of  Roche-de-Frene,  as  the  friend,  long-missed, 
of  the  pale  Abbess.  He  made  his  reverence  to  the 
two. 

The  Abbess  Madeleine  spoke  in  a  voice  of  a  silvery 
tone,  mellowing  here  and  there  into  gold  and  kind 
ness.  "Sir  Knight,  you  are  welcome!  I  have  heard 
a  wondrous  story,  and  God  gave  you  a  noble  part  to 
play.  —  Now  will  speak  your  liege,  the  princess." 

"Sir  Garin  de  Castel-Noir,"  said  Audiart,  "in 
Angouleme  lodges  a  great  lord  and  valiant  knight, 
Count  of  Beauvoisin,  a  kinsman  of  the  most  Rev 
erend  Mother.  She  has  written  to  him,  to  my  great 
aiding.  Take  the  letter,  find  him  out,  and  give  it  to 
him,  your  hand  into  his.  He  will  place  you  in  his 
train,  clothe  you  as  knight  again.  Only  rest  still  of 
Limousin,  and,  for  all  but  this  lord,  choose  a  name 
not  your  own."  She  mused  a  little,  her  eyes  upon 
the  letter,  folded  and  sealed,  that  she  held.  "But 
I  must  know  it  —  the  name.  Call  yourself,  then,  the 
Knight  of  the  Wood."  She  held  out  the  letter.  He 
touched  his  knee  to  the  stone  floor  and  took  it.  "Go 

328 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

now,"  she  said,  "and  the  Saints  have  a  true  man  in 
their  keeping!" 

The  Abbess  Madeleine,  slender,  pure-faced,  of  an 
age  with  the  princess,  extended  her  hand,  gave  the 
blessing  of  Mother  Church.  He  rose,  put  the  letter 
in  the  breast  of  his  tunic,  stepped  backward  from 
the  two,  and  so  left  the  room.  Without  was  the 
grey  sister  who  again  went,  moth-like,  before  him, 
leading  him  through  the  corridor  to  the  Abbey 
door.  She  opened  this  —  he  passed  out  into  the 
sunshine. 

Back  in  Angouleme,  the  first  man  appealed  to  sent 
him  to  the  court  quarter  of  the  town,  the  second 
gave  him  precise  directions  whereby  he  might  know 
when  he  came  to  it  the  house  that  lodged  the  Count 
of  Beauvoisin,  here  in  Angouleme  with  Duke  Rich 
ard.  By  a  tangle  of  narrow  streets  Garin  came  to 
houses  tall  enough  to  darken  these  ways,  in  the 
shadow  themselves  of  the  huge  castle.  He  found  the 
greatest  house,  where  was  a  porter  at  the  door,  and 
lounging  about  it  a  medley  of  the  appendage  sort. 
Jongleur's  art  and  his  own  suasive  power  got  him 
entrance  to  a  small  court  where  gathered  gayer, 
more  important  retainers.  He  sang  for  these,  and 
heads  looked  out  of  windows.  A  page  appeared  with 
a  summons  to  the  hall.  Following  the  youngster, 
Garin  found  himself  among  knights,  well-nigh  a 
score,  awaiting  in  hall  the  count's  pleasure.  Here, 
moreover,  was  a  troubadour  of  fame  not  incon 
siderable,  knight  as  well,  but  not  singer  of  his  own, 

329 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

verses.  He  had  with  him  two  jongleurs  for  that,  and 
these  now  looked  somewhat  greenly  at  Garin. 

A  knight  spoke.  "  Jongleur,  sing  here  as  well  as 
you  sang  below,  and  gain  will  come  to  you! "  Garin 
sang.  "  Ha ! "  cried  the  knights,  ' '  they  sing  that  way 
in  Paradise!" 

The  troubadour  advanced  to  the  front  of  the 
group  and  bade  him  sing  again.  He  obeyed.  "Gold 
hair  of  Our  Lady!"  swore  the  troubadour.  "How 
comes  it  that  you  are  not  jongleur  to  a  poet?" 

11 1  had  a  master,"  answered  Garin,  "but  he  fore 
swore  song  and,  chaining  himself  to  a  rock,  became 
an  eremite.  Good  sirs,  if  the  Count  might  hear 
me—" 

"He  will  be  here  anon  from  the  castle.  He  shall 
hear  you,  jongleur,  and  so  shall  our  Lord,  Duke 
Richard!  Springtime  in  Heaven!"  quoth  the  trou 
badour.  "I  would  take  you  into  my  employ,  but 
though  I  can  pay  linnets,  I  cannot  pay  nightin 
gales!  —  Do  you  know  any  song  of  Robert  de  Mer- 
cceur?" 

He  asked  for  his  own.  Garin,  seeing  that  he  did 
so,  smiled  and  swept  the  strings  of  the  lute.  "Aye, 
I  know  more  than  one!"  He  sang,  and  did  sweet 
words  justice.  The  knights,  each  after  his  own 
fashion,  gave  applause,  and  Robert  de  Mercceur 
sighed  with  pleasure.  The  song  was  short.  Garin 
lifted  his  voice  in  another,  made  by  the  same  trou 
badour.  "Ah!"  sighed  Robert,  "I  would  buy  you 
and  feed  you  from  my  hand ! ' '  He  sat  for  a  moment 

330 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

with  closed  eyes,  tasting  the  bliss  of  right  interpre 
tation.  Then,  "Know  you  Garin  of  the  Golden 
Isle's,  //  e'er,  Fair  Goal,  I  turn  my  eyes  from  thee?" 

Garin  sang  it.  "Rose  tree  of  the  Soul!"  said 
Robert  de  Mercceur ;  "there  is  the  poet  I  would  have 
fellowship  with!" 

The  leaves  of  the  great  door  opened,  and  there 
came  into  hall  the  Count  of  Beauvoisin,  with  him 
two  or  three  famed  knights.  All  who  had  been 
seated,  or  lounging  half  reclined,  stood  up;  the 
silence  of  deference  fell  at  once.  Garin  saw  that 
the  count  was  not  old  and  that  he  had  a  look  of  the 
Abbess  Madeleine.  He  said  that  he  was  weary  from 
riding,  and  coming  to  his  accustomed  great  chair, 
sat  down  and  stretched  himself  with  a  sigh.  His 
eyes  fell  upon  the  troubadour  with  whom  he  had 
acquaintance.  "Ha,  Robert!  rest  us  with  music." 

"Lord  count,"  said  Robert,  "we  have  here  a 
jongleur  with  the  angel  of  sound  in  his  throat  and 
the  angel  of  intelligence  in  his  head !  Set  him  to  sing 
ing.  —  Sing,  jongleur,  again,  that  which  you  have 
just  sung." 

Garin  touched  his  lute.  As  he  did  so  he  came  near 
to  the  count.  He  stood  and  sang  the  song  of  Garin  of 
the  Golden  Island.  "Ah,  ah!"  said  the  Count  of 
Beauvoisin.  "The  Saints  fed  you  with  honey  in  your 
cradle!"  (A  coin  gleamed  between  his  outstretched 
fingers.  Garin  came  very  near  to  receive  it.  "  Lord, ' ' 
he  whispered  as  he  bent,  "much  hangs  upon  my 
speaking  to  you  alone." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

A  jongleur  upon  an  embassy  was  never  an  un 
heard-of  phenomenon.  The  Count  moved  so  as  to 
let  the  light  fall  upon  this  present  jongleur's  face. 
The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  the  one  in  an  enquir 
ing,  the  other  in  a  beseeching  and  compelling  gaze. 
The  count  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  the  jongleur, 
when  he  had  bowed  low,  moved  to  his  original 
station.  "He  sings  well  indeed!"  said  the  Count. 
"Give  him  place  among  his  fellows,  and  when  there 
is  listening-space  I  will  hear  him  again." 

Ere  long  he  rose  and  was  attended  from  the  hall. 
The  knights,  too,  left  the  place,  each  bent  upon  his 
own  concerns.  Only  the  troubadour  Robert  de 
Mercceur  remained,  and  he  came  and,  seating  him 
self  on  the  same  bench  with  Garin,  asked  if  he  would 
be  taught  a  just-composed  alba  or  morning  song, 
and  upon  the  other's  word  of  assent  forthwith  re 
peated  the  first  stanza.  Garin  said  it  over  after  him. 
"Ha,  jongleur!"  quoth  Robert,  "you  are  worthy  to 
be  a  troubadour !  Not  all  can  give  values  value !  The 
second  goes  thus  — " 

But  before  the  alba  was  wholly  learned  came  a 
page,  summoning  the  jongleur.  Garin,  following  the 
boy,  came  into  the  count's  chamber.  Here  was  that 
lord,  none  with  him  but  a  chamberlain  whom  he 
sent  away.  "Now,  jongleur,"  said  the  count,  "what 
errand  and  by  whom  despatched?" 

Garin  drew  the  letter  from  his  tunic  and  gave  it, 
his  hand  into  the  other's  hand.  The  count  looked  at 
the  writing.  "What  is  here?"  he  said.  "Does  the 

332 


THE  ABBEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 

Abbess  Madeleine  choose  a  jongleur  for  a  messen 
ger?"  He  broke  the  seal,  read  the  first  few  lines, 
glanced  at  the  body  of  the  letter,  then  with  a  startled 
look,  followed  by  a  knit  brow,  laid  it  upon  the  table 
beside  him  but  kept  his  hand  over  it.  He  stood  in  a 
brown  study.  Garin,  watching  him,  divined  that 
mind  and  heart  and  memory  were  busied  elsewhere 
than  in  just  this  house  in  Angouleme.  At  last  he 
moved,  turned  his  head  and  spoke  to  the  page. 
' '  Ammonet ! ' '  Ammonet  came  from  the  door.  ' '  Take 
this  jongleur  to  some  chamber  where  he  may  rest. 
Have  food  and  wine  sent  to  him  there."  He  spoke 
to  Garin,  ' '  Go !  but  I  shall  send  for  you  here  again ! ' ' 

The  day  descended  to  evening,  the  evening  to 
night.  Darkness  had  prevailed  for  a  length  of  time 
when  Ammonet  returned  to  the  small,  bare  room 
where  Garin  rested, stretched  upon  a  bench.  "Come,, 
jongleur!"  said  the  page.  "My  lord  is  ready  for 
bed  and  would,  methinks,  be  sung  to  sleep." 

Rising,  he  followed,  and  came  again  to  the  Count's 
chamber,  where  now  was  firelight  and  candle-light, 
and  the  Count  of  Beauvoisin  in  a  furred  robe,  pacing 
the  room  from  side  to  side.  "Wait  without,"  he 
said  to  Ammonet,  and  the  two  men  were  alone  to 
gether.  The  count  paced  the  floor,  Garin  stood  by 
the  hooded  fireplace.  He  had  seen  in  the  afternoon 
that  he  and  this  lord  might  understand  each  other. 

The  count  spoke.  "No  marvel  that  we  liked  your 
singing!  What  if  there  had  been  in  hall  knight  and 
crusader  who  had  heard  you  beyond  the  sea?" 

333 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

" Chance,  risk,  and  brambles  grow  in  every  land." 

"Garin  of  the  Golden  Island.  —  I  know  not  who, 
in  Angouleme,  may  know  that  you  fight  with  Roche- 
de-Frene.  Duke  Richard,  who  knows  somewhat  of 
all  troubadours,  knows  it." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  cry  it  aloud.  • —  Few  in  this 
country  know  my  face,  and  my  name  stays  hidden. 
—  May  we  speak,  my  lord  count,  of  another  presence 
in  Angouleme?" 

The  other  ceased  his  pacing,  flung  himself  down 
on  a  seat  before  the  fire,  and  leaned  forward  with 
clasped  hands  and  bent  head.  He  sat  thus  for  an  ap 
preciable  time,  then  with  a  deep  breath  straightened 
himself.  "When  she  was  the  Lady  Madeleine  the 
Abbess  Madeleine  ruled  a  great  realm  in  my  life. 
God  knoweth,  in  much  she  is  still  my  helm!  ...  Sit 
you  down  and  let  us  talk." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

RICHARD  LION-HEART 

THE  sun  came  up  and  lighted  Angouleme,  town  and 
castle,  hill  and  valley.  Light  and  warmth  increased. 
The  town  began  to  murmur  like  a  hive,  clack  like 
a  mill,  clang  and  sound  as  though  armourers  were 
working.  Angouleme  had  breakfast  and  turned  with 
vigour  the  wheel  of  the  day.  The  Count  of  Beau- 
voisin  rode  with  a  small  following  to  the  Abbey  of 
the  Fountain,  to  see  his  kinswoman  the  Abbess 
Madeleine.  Duke  Richard  Lion-Heart  did  what  he 
did,  and  felt  what  he  felt,  and  believed  what  he  be 
lieved,  with  intensity.  He  was  as  religious  as  an 
acquiescent  thunderbolt  in  Jehovah's  hand.  Where- 
ever  he  came,  a  kind  of  jewelled  sunshine  played 
about  the  branches,  in  that  place,  of  the  Vine  the 
Church.  It  might  shine  with  fitfulness,  but  the  fit- 
fulness  was  less  than  the  shinng.  His  vassals  knew 
his  quality;  when  they  were  with  him  or  where  his 
eye  oversaw  their  conduct,  the  ritual  of  a  religious 
life  received  sharpened  attention. 

The  Abbey  of  the  Fountain  was  a  noble  House  of 
Nuns,  known  afar  for  its  piety,  scholarship,  and 
good  works.  Richard,  coming  to  Angouleme,  had 
sent  a  gift  and  asked  for  the  prayers  of  the  Abbess 
Madeleine,  whom  the  region  held  for  nigh  a  saint. 

335 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

Offering  and  request  had  been  borne  by  the  Count 
of  Beauvoisin,  who  was  the  Abbess's  kinsman.  It 
was  not  strange  in  the  eyes  of  any  that  he  should  ride 
again  to  the  Abbey  of  the  Fountain,  this  time,  per 
haps,  with  his  own  soul's  good  in  mind. 

With  him  rode  the  knight  who  had  come  to  the 
count's  house  in  Angouleme  in  the  guise  of  a  jon 
gleur.  That  was  not  strange,  either  —  if  the  knight 
were  acquaintance  or  friend,  and  if  some  wolfish 
danger  had  forced  him  to  become  a  fugitive  from 
his  own  proper  setting,  or  if  romance  and  whim 
were  responsible,  or  if  he  had  taken  a  vow.  Yester 
day  he  had  been  a  jongleur  with  a  very  golden  voice. 
To-day  he  appeared  a  belted  knight,  dressed  by  the 
count,  given  a  horse  and  a  place  in  his  train.  He  was 
called  the  "Knight  of  the  Wood."  Probably  it  was 
not  his  true  name.  Chivalry  knew  these  transforma 
tions,  and  upheld  them  as  an  integer  in  its  own  sum 
of  rights.  The  knight  would  have  a  reason,  be  it  as 
solid  as  the  ground,  or  be  it  formed  of  rose-hued  mist, 
solid  only  to  his  own  imagination!  For  the  rest,  he 
seemed  a  noble  knight.  The  count  showed  him 
favour,  but  not  enough  to  awaken  criticism,  making 
others  fear  displacement. 

All  rode  through  the  streets  of  Angouleme,  in  the 
bright  keen  day.  Robert  of  Mercosur  was  neighbour 
of  the  Knight  of  the  Wood,  and  looked  aslant  at 
him  with  an  intuitive  eye.  They  passed  out  by  the 
west  gate  and  wound  down  to  the  valley  floor.  It 
was  no  distance  from  the  town  to  the  Abbey  of  the 

336 


RICHARD  LION-HEART 

Fountain ;  the  latter's  great  leafless  trees  were  pres 
ently  about  them.  The  count  with  a  word  drew 
Garin  to  ride  at  his  bridle-hand.  The  two  or  three 
following  fell  a  little  back.  Beauvoisin  spoke. 
11  Richard  says  that  he  will  be  a  week  in  Angouleme. 
But  he  knows  not  when  his  mood  may  change,  and 
in  all  save  three  or  four  things  he  follows  his  mood." 

The  Knight  of  the  Wood  looked  east  and  south. 
"I  will  answer  for  there  being  a  vision  of  many  in 
extremity,  and  a  wild  heartbeat  to  win  and  begone! " 

"'Win.'  —  I  know  not,  nor  can  you  know  as  to 
that." 

"The  schools  would  say  'True,  lord  count!'  But 
there  is  learning  beyond  learning." 

They  rode  in  silence,  each  pursuing  his  own 
thought.  Beauvoisin  rode  with  lifted  head,  gazing 
before  him  down  the  vista  of  trees,  to  where  the 
grey  wall  closed  it.  Presently  he  spoke,  but  spoke 
as  though  he  did  not  know  that  he  was  speaking. 
"We  were  within  the  prohibited  degrees  of  kin." 

The  great  trees  stood  widely  apart,  gave  way  to 
the  grassy  space  before  the  Abbey. 

The  Count  of  Beauvoisin,  his  cap  in  his  hand,  was 
granted  admittance  at  the  Abbey  portal;  might,  in 
the  abbess's  room,  grey  nuns  attending  her,  speak 
with  the  veiled  abbess.  But  they  who  were  with 
him  waited  without,  quietly,  as  the  place  demanded, 
in  the  grassy  space.  The  Knight  of  the  Wood 
waited. 

The  minutes  passed.  When  an  hour  had  gone 
337 


THE  FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

by,  Beauvoisin  came  from  the  grey  building.  He 
mounted  his  horse,  looked  steadfastly  at  the  place, 
then,  with  the  air  of  a  man  in  a  dream,  turned 
toward  Angouleme.  The  knights  followed  him,  rid 
ing  between  huge  boles  of  trees  that  towered. 
Robert  of  Mercceur  was  again  at  Garin's  side. 

"  Do  you  mark  that  look  of  exaltation?  One  man 
has  one  heaven  and  another,  another  —  or  that  is 
the  case  while  they  are  men.  Count  Rainier  has 
seen  his  heaven  —  felt  the  waving  of  its  hands  over 
his  head!" 

In  Angouleme,  in  its  widest  street,  they  saw 
approaching  a  cavalcade  from  the  castle,  a  brilliant 
troop,  glittering  steel,  shimmering  fine  apparel, 
pushing  with  gaiety  through  the  town  upon  some 
short  journey,  half  errand  of  state,  half  of  pleasure. 
At  its  head  rode  one  who  had  the  noblest  steed,  the 
richest  dress.  He  was  a  man  very  fair,  long-armed, 
sinewy,  of  medium  height.  There  was  great  vigour 
of  bearing,  warmth  from  within  out,  an  apparent 
quality  that  drew,  save  when  from  another  quarter 
of  the  nature  came,  scudding,  wrath  and  tempest. 
The  mien  of  command  was  not  lacking,  nor,  to  a 
given  point,  of  self-command.  He  drew  rein  to 
speak  to  the  Count  of  Beauvoisin ;  who  with  his  fol 
lowing  had  given  room,  backing  their  horses  into  the 
opening  of  a  narrower  street. 

"Ha,  Beauvoisin,  we  sent  for  you  but  found  you 
not!  —  Come  to  supper,  man,  with  me  to-night!" 
His  roving  blue  eye  found  out  Robert  of  Mercceur. 

338 


RICHARD   LION-HEART 

"Do  you  come  with  him,  Robert — and  we  will 
talk  of  how  the  world  will  seem  when  all  are  poets! " 

"Beausire,"  said  the  count,  "at  your  will!  Now 
I  turn  beggar  and  beg  for  you  for  guest  in  my  house 
to-morrow." 

11 1  will  come  —  I  will  come!"  said  Richard. 

He  nodded  to  Beauvoisin,  put  his  horse  into  mo 
tion,  clattered  down  the  ill-paved  street.  His  train 
followed,  lords  and  knights  speaking  to  the  count  as 
they  passed.  When  all  were  gone  in  noise  and  colour, 
those  who  had  ridden  to  the  Abbey  of  the  Fountain 
reentered  the  wider  street  and  so  came  to  the  house 
whence  they  had  started.  Dismounting  in  the  court 
where  Garin  had  sung,  they  went,  one  to  this  busi 
ness  or  pleasure,  one  to  that.  But  the  count,  enter 
ing,  mounted  a  great  echoing  flight  of  stairs  to  his 
chamber,  and  here,  obeying  his  signal,  came  also 
the  Knight  of  the  Wood.  Beauvoisin  dismissed  all 
attendants,  and  the  two  were  alone. 

ul  have  seen  your  princess,"  said  Beauvoisin. 
"She  is  a  gallant  lady,  though  not  fair." 

"Ah,  what  is  'fair'?  The  time  tells  the  eyes  that 
such  and  such  is  beauty.  Then  comes  another 
time  with  its  reversal !  But  all  the  time,  if  the  soul 
is  'fair'?  The  princess  is  'fair'  to  me." 

Beauvoisin  looked  at  him  steadily.  "I  see,"  he 
said  "that  we  have  a  like  fate  —  God  He  knoweth 
all,  and  what  the  great  cup  of  life  holds,  holds, 
holds!  .  .  .Well,  that  princess  has  courage  and  is 
wise !  I  had  heard  as  much  of  her,  and  I  see  that  it 
is  so.  In  her  first  womanhood  the  Abbess  Madeleine 

339 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

was  a  long  while  at  the  court  of  Roche-de-Frene. 
Your  princess  is  her  friend."  He  paced  the  room, 
then,  coming  to  the  fire,  bent  over  the  flame. 

"I  see,  my  lord  count,"  said  Garin,  "devotion 
and  generousness ! ' ' 

Beauvoisin  was  silent,  warming  himself  at  the 
flame.  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,  standing  at  the 
window,  looked  toward  Roche-de-Frene.  His  mind's 
eye  saw  assault  and  repulse  and  again  assault,  the 
push  against  walls  and  gates,  the  men  upon  the  walls, 
at  the  gates,  the  engines  of  war,  the  reeking  fury  of 
fight.  The  keener  ear  heard  the  war-cries,  the  clangour 
and  the  shouting,  and  underneath,  the  groan.  He 
saw  the  banner  that  attacked,  and  above  the  castle, 
above  Red  Tower  and  Lion  Tower,  the  banner 
that  defended.  He  turned  toward  the  room  again. 

The  count  spoke,  "  Jaufre  de  Montmaure  !  I  have  no 
love  for  Count  Jaufre,  nor  friendship  with  him.  I  was 
of  those  who,  an  they  could,  would  have  kept  Rich 
ard  from  this  huge  support  he  has  given.  My  party 
would  still  see  it  withdrawn.  —  But  Richard  treads 
a  road  of  his  own.  .  .  Were  Jaufre  Richard,  your 
princess,  being  here,  would  be  in  the  lion's  den!  But 
just  her  coming  —  the  first  outbursting  of  his  anger 
over  —  will  put  her  person  safe  with  Richard." 

"That  has  been  felt  —  knowing  by  old  rumour 
certain  qualities  in  him." 

"It  was  truly  felt.  But  as  to  the  gain  for  which 
all  was  risked ! — Jaufre  has  been  to  him  an  evil  com 
panion,  but  a  companion.  But,"  said  the  Count  of 
Beauvoisin,  "even  at  my  proper  danger,  I  will  get 

340 


RICHARD  LION-HEART 

for  her  who,  by  Saint  Michael!  with  courage  has 
come  here,  the  meeting  she  asks!" 

The  castle  of  Angouleme  was  not  so  huge  and 
strong  a  place  as  the  castle  of  Roche-de-Frene,  but 
still  was  it  great  and  strong  enough.  The  high  of 
rank  among  its  usual  population  remained  within 
its  walls,  but  the  lesser  sort  were  crowded  out  and 
flowed  into  the  town,  so  making  room  for  Duke 
Richard's  great  train.  Martialness  was  the  tone 
where  he  went,  with  traceable  threads  of  song, 
threads  of  religiousness.  Colours  had  violence,  and 
yet  with  suddenness  and  for  short  whiles  might 
soften  to  tenderness.  There  was  brazen  clangour, 
rattle  as  of  armour,  dominance  of  trumpets,  yet 
flute  notes  might  come  in  the  interstices,  and  lute 
and  harp  had  their  recognized  times.  And  all  and 
whatever  was  in  presence  showed  with  him  intense 
and  glowing.  Idea  clothed  itself  promptly  in  emo 
tion,  emotion  ran  hotfoot  into  action,  but  none  of 
the  three  were  film-like,  momentary.  Impetuous, 
they  owned  a  solidity.  He  could  do,  he  had  done, 
many  an  evil  thing,  but  there  was  room  for  a  sense 
of  realms  that  were  not  evil. 

It  was  afternoon,  and  the  red  sun  reddened  the 
castle  hall.  There  had  been  planned  some  manner 
of  indoor  festivity,  pageantry.  The  world  of  chiv 
alry,  men  and  women,  gathered  in  Angouleme  about 
Richard  Lion-Heart,  was  there  to  see  and  be  seen. 
But  after  the  first  half-hour  Richard  rose  and  went 
away.  His  immediate  court  was  used  to  that,  too. 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

His  mood  had  countered  the  agreed-upon  mood  for 
the  hour:  naught  was  to  do  but  to  watch  him  depart. 
Music  that  was  playing  played  more  loudly;  a 
miracle-story  in  pantomime  was  urged  to  more  pas 
sionate  action;  as  best  might  be,  the  chasm  was 
covered.  "  It  is  the  Duke's  way  —  applaud  the  en 
tertainers  or  the  thing  will  drag!" 

The  duke  went  away  to  a  great  room  in  another 
part  of  the  castle.  With  him  he  drew  two  or  three  of 
his  intimates ;  in  the  room  itself  attended  the  Count 
of  Beauvoisin  and  several  knights  of  fame  and  wor 
thiness.  Among  these  stood  that  newcomer  to  An- 
gouleme,  the  Knight  of  the  Wood.  The  room  was 
richly  furnished,  lit  by  the  red  light  of  the  sun 
streaming  through  three  deep  windows.  A  door  in 
the  opposite  wall  gave  into  a  smaller  room. 

Richard,  entering,  flung  himself  into  the  chair 
set  for  him  in  the  middle  of  a  great  square  of 
cloth  worked  with  gold.  His  brow  was  dark; 
when  he  spoke,  his  voice  had  the  ominous,  lion  note. 

"My  lord  of  Beauvoisin!" 

Beauvoisin  came  near.    ' '  Lord,  all  is  arranged  — ' ' 

The  duke  made  a  violent  movement  of  impatience, 
of  anger  beginning  to  work. 

"This  is  a  madness  that  leads  to  naught!  Does 
this  princess  think  I  am  so  fickle  —  ?" 

His  blue  eye,  roving  the  room,  came  to  the  group 
of  knights  at  the  far  end.  "Yonder  knight  —  is  he 
Garin  of  the  Golden  Island?" 

"Yes,  lord." 

Duke  Richard  gazed  at  Garin  of  the  Golden 
342 


RICHARD  LION-HEART 

Island.  "By  the  rood,  he  looks  a  man! "  He  turned 
to  his  anger  again.  "But  now  this  woman  —  this 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  — •"  His  impatient  foot 
wrinkled  the  silken  carpet.  "She  may  count  it  for 
happiness  if  I  do  not  hold  her  here  while  I  send  mes 
sengers  to  Count  Jaufre,  'Lo,  I  have  caged  your 
bride  for  you !'"  He  nursed  his  anger.  Beauvoisin 
saw  with  apprehension  how  he  fanned  it.  "What 
woman  comprehends  man's  loyalty  to  man?  I  said 
to  Montmaure  I  would  aid  him  — •" 

"My  lord,  the  princess  is  here  —  within  yonder 


room." 


"Ha!  "cried  Richard;  and  that  in  his  nature  that 
gave  back,  touch  for  touch,  Jaufre  de  Montmaure, 
came  through  the  doors  his  anger  had  opened.  "Let 
her  then  come  to  me  here  as  would  the  smallest 
petitioner!  God's  blood!  Montmaure  has  her  land. 
I  hold  her  not  as  reigning  princess  and  my  peer!" 

Beauvoisin  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  lesser  room, 
opened  it,  and  having  spoken  to  one  within,  stood 
aside.  Duke  Richard  turned  in  his  seat,  looked  at 
the  red  sun  out  of  window.  He  showed  a  tension: 
the  movement  of  his  foot  upon  the  floor-cloth  might 
have  stood  for  the  lion's  pacing  to  and  fro,  lashing 
himself  to  fury.  At  a  sign  from  Beauvoisin  the 
knights  had  drawn  farther  into  the  shadow  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  Garin  watched  from  this  dusk. 

The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  came  with  sim 
plicity  and  quietness  from  the  lesser  room.  She  was 
not  dressed  now  as  a  herd-girl,  but  as  a  princess. 
There  followed  her  two  grey  nuns  who,  taking  their 

343 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

stand  by  the  door,  remained  there  with  lowered  eyes 
and  fingers  upon  their  rosaries.  The  princess  came 
to  the  edge  of  the  gold-wrought  square.  ''My  lord 
duke,"  she  said;  and  when  Garin  heard  her  voice  he 
knew  that  power  was  in  her. 

When  Richard  turned  from  the  window  she 
kneeled  and  that  without  outward  or  inner  cavilling. 

"Ha,  madame!"  said  Richard.  " Blood  of  God! 
did  you  think  to  gain  aught  by  coming  here?" 

She  answered  him ;  then,  after  a  moment's  silence 
which  he  did  not  break,  began  again  to  speak.  The 
tones  of  her  voice,  now  sustained,  now  changing, 
came  to  those  afar  in  the  room,  but  not  all  the  words 
she  said.  Without  words,  they  gave  to  those  by  the 
wall  a  tingling  of  the  nerves,  a  feeling  of  wave  on  wave 
of  force  —  not  hostile,  uniting  with  something  in 
themselves,  giving  to  that  something  volume  and  mo 
mentum,  wealth.  .  .  .  There  were  slight  movements, 
then  stillness  answering  the  still,  intense  burning, 
the  burning  white,  of  her  passion,  will,  and  power. 

She  rested  from  speech.  Richard  left  his  chair, 
came  to  her  and  giving  her  his  hand,  aided  her  to 
rise.  He  sent  his  voice  down  the  room  to  Beau- 
voisin.  "My  lord  count,  bring  yonder  chair  for  the 
princess."  He  had  moved  and  spoken  as  one  not  in 
a  dream,  but  among  visions.  When  the  chair  was 
brought  and  placed  upon  the  golden  cloth  and  she 
had  seated  herself  in  it,  he  retook  his  own.  "  Jaufre 
de  Montmaure,"  he  said,  "was  my  friend,  and  he 
wanted  you  for  bride  — ' ' 

She  began  again  to  speak,  and  the  immortal  power 
344 


RICHARD  LION-HEART 

and  desire  of  her  nature,  burning  deep  and  high  and 
rapidly,  coloured  and  shook  the  room.  "Lord, 
lord/'  she  said.  "The  right  of  it  —  "  Sentence  by 
sentence,  wave  on  wave,  the  right  of  it  made  way, 
seeing  that  deep  within  Duke  Richard  there  was  one 
of  its  own  household  who  must  answer. 

That  meeting  lasted  an  hour.  The  Princess  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  rising  from  her  chair,  stretched  out 
her  hands  to  Richard  Lion-Heart.  "  I  would  rest  all 
now,  my  lord  duke.  The  sun  is  sinking,  but  for  all 
that  we  yet  will  live  by  its  light.  In  the  morning  it 
comes  again." 

"  I  will  ride  to-morrow  to  the  Abbey  of  the  Foun 
tain.  We  will  speak  further  together.  I  have  prom 
ised  naught." 

1 '  No.  But  give  room  and  maintenance  to-night,  my 
Lord  Richard,  to  all  that  I  have  said  that  is  verity. 
Let  all  that  is  not  verity  go  by  you  —  go  by  you ! ' ' 

Beauvoisin  and  his  men  gave  her  and  the  nuns 
with  her  escort  back  to  the  Abbey  of  the  Fountain. 
Going,  she  put  upon  her  head  and  drew  forward  so 
that  it  shadowed  her  face,  a  long  veil  of  eastern 
make,  threaded  with  gold  and  silver.  Her  robe  was 
blue,  a  strange,  soft,  deep  colour. 

The  next  morning,  Duke  Richard  rode  to  the 
Abbey.  He  went  again  the  day  after,  and  this  day 
the  sheaf  was  made.  The  Princess  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  and  Jaufre  de  Montmaure  appealed  each  to  a 
man  in  Duke  Richard,  a  higher  man  and  a  lower 
man.  In  these  winter  days,  but  sun-lighted,  the 
higher  man  won. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   FAIR   GOAL 

MESSENGERS,  heralds,  bearing  decisive  and  peremp 
tory  speech,  went  from  Richard,  Count  of  Poitou 
and  Duke  of  Aquitaine,  to  the  Counts  of  Mont- 
maure.  Others  were  despatched  to  the  leaders  of  the 
host  of  Aquitaine  before  Roche-de-Frene.  Duke 
Richard  was  at  peace  with  Roche-de-Frene ;  let  that 
host  therefore  direct  no  blow  against  its  lord's  ally! 
Instead,  let  it  forthwith  detach  itself  from  Mont- 
maure,  withdraw  at  once  from  the  princedom  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  and,  returned  within  its  own  bound 
aries,  go  each  man  to  his  own  home.  On  your  faith 
and  obedience.  So  the  heralds  to  the  leaders  of  the 
aid  from  Aquitaine. 

To  the  Counts  of  Montmaure  the  heralds,  declaring 
themselves  true  heart,  mouth,  and  speech  of  Duke 
Richard,  delivered  peremptory  summons  to  desist 
from  this  war.  An  they  did  not,  it  would  be  held 
to  them  for  revolt  from  Richard  their  suzerain.  .  .  . 
The  heralds  with  their  train  rode  fast  and  rode  far. 

The  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  awaited  in 
Angouleme  the  earliest  fruit  of  this  faring.  She 
waited  at  first  at  the  Abbey  of  the  Fountain,  but 
presently  in  the  town  as  Duke  Richard's  guest.  A 
great  house  was  given  her,  with  all  comfort  and 

346 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

service.  Ladies  came  to  wait  upon  her;  she  had 
seneschal,  chamberlain  and  page.  If  she  would  go 
abroad  she  had  palfreys  with  their  grooms;  in  her 
hall  waited  knights  to  attend  her.  Angouleme  and 
its  castle  and  the  court  about  Duke  Richard  buzzed 
of  her  presence  in  this  place,  of  what  adventure  had 
been  hers  to  reach  it,  and  of  the  attitude  now  of 
Richard  Lion-Heart.  They  did  not  know  detail 
of  her  adventure,  but  they  knew  that  it  had  taken 
courage.  They  knew  that  Richard  had  in  him  power 
to  turn  squarely.  They  did  not  know  all  the  whys 
and  wherefores,  depths  and  reasons  of  the  right 
angle  that  made  in  Angouleme  a  whirling  cloud  of 
speculation,  but  as  a  fact  they  accepted  it  and  pro 
ceeded  with  their  own  adaptation.  The  party  that, 
for  reasons  personal  to  itself,  had  backed  Mont- 
maure,  wagering  in  effect  upon  the  permanency  of 
his  influence  with  Richard,  took  its  discomforture  as 
enforced  surgery  and  found  it  wisdom's  part  to  pro 
fess  healing.  The  party  that  had  been  hostile  to 
Montmaure  found  a  clearing  day  and  walked  with 
satisfaction  in  the  sun.  Those  —  not  many  —  who 
had  stood  between  the  two,  found  usual  cautious 
pleasure  in  changing  scenery  and  event.  The  most 
in  Angouleme  could  give  nine  days  to  wonder.  The 
Princess  Audiart  stayed  with  them  no  greatly  longer 
time. 

Duke  Richard  came  to  her  house  in  state.  In 
state  she  returned  the  visit,  was  met  by  him  at  the 
castle  gate.  He  would  give  a  joust  in  her  honour, 

347 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   GARIN 

and  afterward  a  contest  of  troubadours.  She  sat  be 
side  him  on  the  dais,  and  watched  all  with  a  gentle 
face,  a  still  and  inscrutable  look.  Beauvoisin  was  of 
those  who  tourneyed,  and  among  the  knights  whom 
he  brought  into  the  lists  rode  Garin  of  the  Black 
Castle,  who  did  most  well  and  was  given  great  ob 
servance.  The  next  day,  when  there  was  song, 
Richard  called  for  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,  nam 
ing  him  famed  knight,  famed  poet,  famed  bird  of 
song,  bird  that  sang  from  itself.  Garin  came  before 
the  dais,  took  from  a  jongleur  his  lute. 

"Sir  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,"  said  Richard, 
"sing  Within  its  heart  the  nightingale  —  " 

He  sang  —  a  golden  song  sung  greatly. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Richard  Lion-Heart,  and  bade  him 
sing  When  in  my  dreams  thou  risest  like  a  star.  ' '  Ah 
God ! "  said  Richard.  "Some  are  kings  one  way,  and 
some  another!  Sing  now  and  lastly  to-day,  Fair 
Goal." 

Garin  sang.  All  Angouleme  that  might  gather  in 
the  great  hall,  in  the  galleries,  in  the  court  and  pas 
sages  without,  listened  with  parted  lips.  Richard 
listened,  and  in  some  sort  he  may  have  felt  what  the 
singer  felt  of  goals  beyond  goals,  of  glories  beyond 
the  loveliness  and  glories  of  symbols,  of  immortal 
union  behind,  beneath,  above  the  sweetness  of  an 
earthly  fact. 

One  was  present  who  did  feel  what  the  singer 
felt,  and  that  was  the  princess  who  sat  as  still  as 
if  she  were  carven  there.  .  .  Garin  of  the  Golden 

348 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

Island  won  the  golden  falcon  that  was  the  duke's 
prize. 

A  week  went  by.  A  second  began  to  drift  into  the 
past,  winter  day  by  winter  day.  Messengers  now 
rode  into  Angouleme  and  through  the  castle  gates, 
and  were  brought  to  Duke  Richard.  They  came 
from  the  lords  of  Aquitaine  encamped  before  Roche- 
de-Frene,  and  they  bore  tidings  of  obedience.  The 
host  helped  no  longer  in  this  war.  When  the  mes 
sengers  departed  it  was  in  act  of  lifting  from  all  its 
encampments;  even  now  it  would  be  withdrawing 
from  the  lands  of  Roche-de-Frene.  Richard  sent 
this  word  in  state  to  the  princess  in  Angouleme. 

A  day  later  there  spurred  at  dusk  into  Angouleme 
a  cloaked  and  hooded  lord,  behind  him  three  or  four, 
knights  or  squires.  The  following  morn  the  first  won 
through  to  Richard's  presence.  The  two  were  alone 
together  a  considerable  time.  Those  who  waited 
without  the  room  heard  rise  and  fall  of  voices.  .  .  . 
At  last  came  the  lion's  note  in  Richard's  voice,  but 
it  changed  and  fell  away.  He  was  speaking  now  with 
an  icy  reasonableness.  That  passed  to  a  very  still, 
pointed  utterance  with  silences  between.  .  .  .  The 
other  made  passionate  answer.  Richard's  speech 
took  a  sternness  and  energy  which  in  him  marked 
the  lion  sublimated.  Then  a  bell  was  struck;  the  at 
tendants,  when  they  opened  the  door,  had  a  glimpse 
of  a  red-gold  head  and  a  working  face,  hook-nosed, 
with  a  scar  upon  its  cheek. 

Montmaure  left  Angouleme;  he  rode  in  savagery 
349 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

and  bitterness,  his  spur  reddening  the  side  of  his 
horse,  the  men  with  him  labouring  after.  He  rode, 
whether  by  day  or  by  eve,  in  a  hot  night  of  his  own. 
Red  sparks  flashed  through  it,  and  each  showed 
something  he  did  not  wish  to  see.  Now  it  was 
Richard  whom  he  doubted  if  ever  he  could  regain, 
and  now  it  was  Richard's  aid  withdrawing  —  with 
drawn  —  from  the  plain  by  Roche-de-Frene.  Cap- 
du-Loup  —  Cap-du-Loup  would  follow  Aquitaine, 
might  even  now  gustily  have  whirled  away!  Jaufre's 
spirit  whispered  of  other  allies  who  might  follow. 
The  glare  showed  him  the  force  of  Montmaure  that 
was  left,  spread  thinly  before  Roche-de-Frene.  It 
showed  Roche-de-Frene,  as  last  he  had  seen  it,  over 
his  shoulder,  when  he  rode  with  fury  and  passion 
to  work  in  Angouleme  a  counter-miracle,  —  as  he 
would  see  it  now  again,  —  Roche-de-Frene  grim  and 
dauntless,  huge  giant  seated  on  a  giant  rock.  Jaufre, 
whelmed  in  his  night-time,  shook  with  its  immen 
sity  of  tempest.  The  storm  brought  forth  lights  of 
its  own.  They  showed  him  Montmaure  —  Mont 
maure  also  in  motion  —  cowering  forth,  unwinning, 
from  this  war.  They  showed  him  Audiart  the  prin 
cess.  When  he  came  to  Angouleme  he  had  learned 
there  who  had  wrought  the  miracle.  .  .  .  An  inner 
light  that  was  not  red  or  born  of  storm  trembled 
suddenly,  far  above  the  great  fens  and  marshes  and 
hot,  wild  currents.  That  quality  in  her  that  had 
wrought  the  miracle  —  It  was  but  a  point,  a  gleam, 
but  Jaufre  had  seen  white  light.  The  storm  closed 

350 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

in  upon  him,  but  he  had  looked  into  a  higher  order, 
knew  now  that  it  was  there.  His  huge,  lower  being 
writhed,  felt  the  space  above  it 

Hours  passed,  days  passed.  He  came  through 
country  which  he  had  charred,  back  to  Montmaure's 
tents.  The  dragon  lay  shrunken ;  it  could  no  longer 
wholly  enfold  Roche-de-Frene.  Jaufre  found  his 
father's  red  pavilion,  entered. 

Count  Savaric  started  up.  "Ha!  you  rode  fast! 
Speak  out!  Is  it  good  or  bad?" 

"  Bad,"  said  Jaufre,  and  faintly,  faintly  knew  that 
it  was  good. 

The  days  went  by  in  Angouleme  and  there  came 
again  the  heralds  who  had  been  sent  to  Montmaure. 
They  brought  Count  Savaric's  and  Count  Jaufre's 
submission  to  the  will  of  their  suzerain  —  since  no 
other  could  be  done  and  sunshine  be  kept  to  grow 
in!  They  brought  news  of  the  lifting  of  the  siege 
of  Roche-de-Frene.  On  the  morrow  came  one  who 
had  been  in  Roche-de-Frene.  He  had  to  tell  of  joy 
that  overflowed. 

The  Princess  Audiart  left  the  court  of  Richard 
Lion-Heart  for  her  own  land  and  capital  town.  She 
went  with  a  great  escort  which  Richard  would  give 
her.  The  danger  now  from  the  dragon  that  had 
ravaged  her  country  lay  only  in  the  scattered  drops 
of  venom  that  might  be  encountered,  —  wild  bands, 
Free  Companies,  wandering  about,  ripe  for  mischief, 
not  yet  sunk  back  into  their  first  lairs.  She  and 
Duke  Richard  made  pact  of  amity  between  his  house 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

and  hers,  and  she  went  from  Angouleme  on  a  grey 
day,  beneath  a  cloud-roof  that  promised  snow.  At 
the  Abbey  of  the  Fountain  she  dismounted,  entered 
to  say  farewell  to  the  Abbess  Madeleine  and  to  kneel 
for  Church's  blessing.  She  had  ladies  now  in  her 
train.  These  entered  with  her,  and  two  knights,  the 
Count  of  Beauvoisin  and  Sir  Garin  of  the  Black 
Castle.  Forth  and  upon  the  road,  Beauvoisin  rode 
at  her  right.  He  had  the  duke's  signet,  lord's  power 
to  bear  her  safely  through  every  territory  that  owed 
allegiance  to  Richard. 

The  snow  fell,  but  the  air  was  not  cold.  They  rode 
through  the  afternoon  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  large 
white  flakes.  In  the  twilight  they  reached  a  fair- 
sized  town  where  great  and  rich  preparation  had 
been  made  for  them.  The  next  day  also  the  snow 
fell,  and  they  fared  forward  through  a  white  coun 
try.  Then  the  snow  ceased,  the  clouds  faded  a^d  a 
great  heaven  of  blue  vaulted  the  world.  The  sun 
shone  and  melted  the  snow,  there  came  a  breath  as  of 
the  early  spring. 

In  the  middle  of  the  day  they  pitched  the  princess's 
pavilion  in  the  lee  of  a  hill  or  in  some  purple  wood. 
They  built  a  fire  for  her  and  her  ladies  and,  a  dis 
tance  away,  a  camp-fire.  Dinner  was  cooked  and 
served;  rest  was  taken,  then  camp  was  broken  and 
they  rode  on  again.  Time  and  route  were  spaced  so 
that  at  eve  they  entered  town  or  village  or  castle 
gate.  Beauvoisin  had  sent  horsemen  ahead  —  when 
the  princess  and  her  company  entered,  they  found 

352 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

room  and  cheer  with  varying  pomp  of  welcome. 
The  night  passed,  in  the  morning  stately  adieux  were 
made;  they  travelled  on. 

Riding  east  and  south,  they  came  now  into  and 
crossed  fiefs  that  held  from  Montmaure  who  held 
from  Aquitaine.  Beauvoisin  kept  hawk-watch  and 
all  knights  rode  with  a  warrior  mien.  Care  was  taken 
where  the  camp  should  be  made.  Among  those  sent 
ahead  to  town  or  castle  were  poursuivants  who  made 
formal  proclamation  of  Duke  Richard's  mind.  — 
But  though  they  saw  many  who  had  been  among 
the  invaders  of  Roche-de-Frene,  and  though  the 
country  wore  a  scowling  and  forbidding  aspect,  — 
where  it  did  not  wear  an  aspect  relieved  and  com 
plaisant,  —  they  made  transit  without  open  or 
secret  hindrance.  They  came  nearer,  nearer  to 
borders  of  Roche-de-Frene.  In  clear  and  gentle 
weather  the  princess  entered  that  fief  which  had 
been  held  by  Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered. 

This  was  a  ravaged  region  indeed,  and  there  was 
no  town  here  for  sleeping  in  and  no  great  castle  that 
stood.  When  the  sun  was  low  in  the  western  sky 
they  set  the  princess's  pavilion,  and  one  for  her 
ladies,  at  the  edge  of  a  wood.  A  murmuring  stream 
went  by ;  there  were  two  great  pine  trees  and  the  fire 
that  was  lighted  made  bronze  pillars  of  their  trunks. 
Something  in  them  brought  into  Audiart's  mind  the 
Palestine  pillars  before  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of 
Roche-de-Frene. 

The  sun  was  a  golden  ball,  close  to  the  horizon. 
353 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Wrapped  in  her  mantle,  she  sat  on  a  stone  by  the  fire 
and  watched  it.  Her  ladies,  perceiving  that  she 
wished  to  be  alone,  kept  within  the  pavilions.  Beau- 
voisin  and  his  knights  sat  or  reclined  about  their 
fire  farther  down  the  stream.  Farther  yet  a  third 
great  fire  blazed  for  the  squires  and  men-at-arms. 
Upon  a  jutting  mound  a  knight  and  a  squire  sat 
their  horses,  motionless  as  statues,  watching  that 
naught  of  ill  came  near  the  pavilions. 

One  upon  the  bank  of  the  stream  drew  farther 
from  the  knights'  fire  and  nearer  to  that  of  the  prin 
cess,  then  stood  where  she  might  see  him.  She  turned 
her  head  as  if  she  felt  him  there. 

"Come  to  the  fire,  Sir  Garin,"  she  said. 

Garin  came.  "My  Lady  Audiart,  may  I  speak? 
I  have  a  favour  to  beg." 

She  nodded  her  head.  "What  do  you  wish,  Sir 
Garin?" 

Garin  stood  before  her,  and  the  light  played  over 
and  about  him.  "We  are  on  land  that  Raimbaut 
the  Six-fingered  held,  whose  squire  I  was.  Not  many 
leagues  from  this  wood  is  Castel-Noir,  where  I  was 
born  and  where  my  brother,  if  it  be  that  he  yet  lives, 
abides.  I  would  see  him  again,  and  I  would  rest 
with  him  for  a  time  and  help  him  bring  our  fief  back 
to  well-being  and  well-doing.  —  What  I  ask,  my 
Lady  Audiart,  is  that  in  the  morning  I  may  turn 
aside  to  Castel-Noir  and  rest  there." 

The  princess  sat  very  still  upon  the  stone.  The 
golden  sun  had  slipped  to  half  an  orb ;  wood  and  hill 

354 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

stretched  dark,  the  voice  of  the  stream  changed  key. 
Audiart  seemed  to  ponder  that  request.  Her  hand 
shaded  her  face.  At  last,  "We  have  word  that  ere 
we  reach  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt  there 
will  meet  us  a  great  company  of  our  own  lords  and 
knights.  So,  with  them  and  with  our  friends  here, 
we  are  to  make  glittering  entry  into  Roche-de- 
Frene.  ...  I  do  not  prize  the  glitter,  but  so  is  the 
custom,  and  so  will  it  be  done.  Now  if  I  have 
wrought  much  for  Roche-de-Frene,  I  know  not,  but 
I  am  glad.  But  if  I  have  done  aught,  you  have  done 
it,  too,  for  I  think  that  I  could  not  have  reached 
Duke  Richard  without  you.  That  is  known  now  by 
others,  and  will  be  more  fully  known.  .  .  .  Will  you 
not  ride  still  to  Roche-de-Frene  and  take  your  share 
of  what  sober  triumph  is  preparing?" 

"Do  you  bid  me  do  so,  my  Lady  Audiart?" 

"  I  do  not  bid  you.  I  will  for  you  to  do  according 
to  your  own  will." 

"Then  I  will  not  go  now  to  Roche-de-Frene,  but  I 
will  go  to  Castel-Noir." 

The  princess  sat  with  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and 
her  chin  on  her  hand.  She  sat  very  still,  her  eyes 
upon  the  winter  glow  behind  the  winter  woods. 
"As  you  will,  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island,"  she  said 
at  last.  Her  voice  had  in  it  light  and  shadow.  She 
sat  still  and  Garin  stood  as  still,  by  the  fire.  All 
around  them  was  its  light  and  the  light  in  the  sky 
that  made  a  bright  dusk. 

He  spoke.   "  The  Convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Egypt. 
355 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

Martinmas,  eight  years  ago,  I  was  in  Roche-de- 
Frene.  I  heard  Bishop  Ugo  preach  and  I  knelt 
in  the  church  before  Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene. 
Then  I  went  to  the  inn  for  my  horse.  There,  passers- 
by  asked  me  if  I  was  for  the  feast-day  jousts  and 
revels  in  the  castle  lists.  I  said  No,  I  could  not  stay. 
Then  they  said  that  there  sat  to  judge  the  contest 
the  Princess  Alazais,  and  beside  her,  the  Princess 
Audiart.  I  had  no  reason  to  think  them  mistaken. 
Were  they  right,  or  were  they  wrong?  Were  you 
there  in  Roche-de-Frene?  " 

"  Martinmas,  eight  years  ago?  —  No,  I  was  not  in 
Roche-de-Frene,  though  I  came  back  to  the  castle 
very  soon.  I  was  at  Our  Lady  in  Egypt." 

"Ah  God!"  said  Garin  with  strong  emotion. 
"  How  beautiful  are  Thy  circles  that  Thou  drawest ! " 

She  looked  at  him  with  parted  lips.  "Now,  /  will 
ask  a  question!  I  wearied,  that  autumn,  of  nuns' 
ways  and  waiting  ladies'  ways  and  my  own  ways. 
One  day  I  said, '  I  will  go  be  a  shepherdess  and  taste 
the  true  earth ! ' "  A  smile  hovered.  "Faith !  the  ex 
periment  was  short!  —  Now,  my  question.  —  Being 
a  shepherdess,  I  was  like  to  taste  shepherdess's 
fare  in  this  so  knightly  world.  Then  came  by  a  true 
knight,  though  his  dress  and  estate  were  those  of  a 
squire.  —  My  question:  —  I  asked  him,  that  day, 
'Where  is  your  home?'  He  answered,  that  squire, 
and  I  thought  that  he  told  the  truth,  — '  I  dwell  by 
the  sea,  a  long  way  from  here.'  —  Sir  Garin  de 
Castel-Noir,  that  was  squire  to  Raimbaut  the  Six- 

356 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

fingered,  neither  dwelling  nor  serving  by  the  sea  but 
among  hills,  and  not  far  away  but  near  at  hand,  tell 
me  now  and  tell  me  truly  — " 

"  Jael  the  herd,  I  am  punished!  I  thought  to  my 
self,  '  I  am  in  danger  from  that  false  knight  who  will 
certainly  seek  me." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  said  the  princess;  and  she  laughed  at 
him  in  scorn. 

"  It  is  an  ill  thing,"  said  Garin,  "  to  mistrust  and  to 
lie !  I  make  no  plea,  my  Lady  Audiart,  save  that  I 
do  not  always  so." 

"Certes,  no!  I  believe  you  there.  .  .  .  Let  it  goby. 
.  .  .  That  shepherdess  could  not,  after  all,  be  to  you 
for  trustworthiness  like  your  Fair  Goal  — " 

She  ceased  abruptly  upon  the  name.  The  colour 
glowed  in  the  west,  the  colour  played  and  leaped 
in  the  faggot  fire,  the  colour  quivered  in  their  own 
faces.  Light  that  was  not  outer  light  brightened 
in  their  eyes.  Their  frames  trembled,  their  tissues 
seemed  to  themselves  and  to  each  other  to  grow  fine 
and  luminous.  There  had  been  a  shock,  and  all  the 
world  was  different. 

Garin  spoke.  "On  a  Tuesday  you  were  Jael  the 
herd.  On  a  Thursday,  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  you 
came  with  your  ladies  to  a  lawn  by  the  stream  that 
flows  by  Our  Lady  in  Egypt  —  the  lawn  of  the  plane, 
the  poplar  and  the  cedar,  the  stone  chair  beneath 
the  cedar,  and  the  tall  thick  laurels  rounding  all." 
He  was  knight  and  poet  and  singer  now  —  Garin  of 
the  Golden  Island  —  knight  and  poet  and  singer  and 

357 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

another  besides.  "A  nightingale  had  sung  me  into 
covert  there.  I  followed  it  down  the  stream,  from 
grove  to  grove,  and  it  sung  me  into  covert  there. 
The  laurels  were  about  me.  I  rested  so  close  to  the 
cedar  —  so  close  to  the  stone  chair !  One  played  a 
harp  —  you  moved  with  your  ladies  to  the  water's 
edge  —  you  came  up  the  lawn  again  to  the  three 
trees.  You  were  robed  in  blue,  my  princess;  your 
veil  was  long  and  threaded  with  silver  and  gold,  and 
it  hid  your  face.  I  never  saw  your  face  that  day  — 
nor  for  long  years  afterward!  You  sat  in  the  stone 
chair—" 

"Stop!"  said  the  Princess  Audiart.  She  sat  per 
fectly  still  in  the  rich  dusk.  Air  and  countenance 
had  a  strange  hush,  a  moment  of  expressionless  wait 
ing.  Then  uprushed  the  dawn.  He  saw  the  memory 
awaken,  the  wings  of  knowledge  outstretch.  "Ah, 
my  God!"  she  whispered.  "As  I  sat  there,  the 
strangest  breath  came  over  me — sense  of  a  presence 
near  as  myself  — "  The  rose  in  her  face  became  car 
nation,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  turned  aside.  The  fire 
came  between  her  and  Garin ;  she  paced  up  and  down 
in  the  shadowy  space  between  the  tree-trunks  that 
were  like  the  Saracen  pillars. 

Moments  passed,  then  she  returned  and  stood  be 
side  the  stone. 

Garin  bent  his  knee.  "My  Lady  Audiart,  you, 
and  only  you,  in  woman  form,  became  to  me  her 
whom  for  years  I  have  sung,  naming  her  the  Fair 
Goal.  .  .  .  I  left  that  covert  soon,  going  away  without 

358 


THE  FAIR  GOAL 

sound.  I  only  saw  you  veiled,  but  all  is  as  I  have 
said.  ...  But  now,  before  I  go  to  Castel-Noir,  there 
is  more  that  I  would  tell  to  you." 

"Speak  at  your  will,"  said  the  princess. 

11  Do  you  remember  one  evening  in  the  castle  gar 
den  —  first  upon  the  watch-tower,  and  then  in  the 
garden,  and  you  were  weary  of  war  and  all  its 
thoughts,  and  bade  me  take  Pierol's  lute  and  sing? 
I  sang,  and  you  said,  'Sing  of  the  Fair  Goal.'  I 
sang  —  and  there  and  then  came  that  sense  of  dou- 
bleness  and  yet  one.  ...  It  came  —  it  made  for  me 
confusion  and  marvel,  pain,  delight.  It  plunged  me 
into  a  mist,  where  for  a  time  I  wandered.  After  that 
it  strengthened  —  strengthened  —  strengthened ! .  .  . 
At  first,  I  fought  it  in  my  mind,  for  I  thought  it  dis 
loyalty.  I  fought,  but  before  this  day  I  had  ceased 
to  fight,  or  to  think  it  disloyalty.  Before  we  came 
to  Angouleme  —  and  afterwards.  ...  I  knew  not 
how  it  might  be  —  God  knoweth  I  knew  not  how  it 
might  be  —  but  my  lady  whom  I  worshipped  afar, 
and  my  princess  and  my  liege  were  one!  I  knew 
that,  though  still  I  thought  I  saw  impossibilities  — 
They  did  not  matter,  there  was  something  higher 
that  dissolved  impossibilities.  ...  I  saw  again  the 
Fair  Goal,  and  my  heart  sang  louder,  and  all  my 
heart  was  hers  as  it  had  been,  only  more  deeply  so 
—  more  deeply  so!  And  still  it  is  so  —  still  it  is  the 
same  —  only  with  the  power,  I  think,  of  growing 
forever!"  He  rose,  came  close  to  her,  kneeled  again 
and  put  the  edge  of  her  mantle  to  his  lips.  "And 

359 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

now,  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene,  I  take  my  leave 
and  go  to  Castel-Noir.  I  am  knight  of  yours.  If 
ever  I  may  serve  you,  do  you  but  call  my  name! 
Adieu  —  adieu  —  adieu ! " 

She  regarded  him  with  a  great  depth  and  beauty 
of  look.  "Adieu,  now,  Sir  Garin  of  the  Black  Castle 
—  Sir  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island !  Do  you  know 
how  much  there  is  to  do  in  Roche-de-Frene  —  and 
how,  for  a  long  time,  perhaps,  one  must  think  only 
of  the  people  and  the  land  that  stood  this  war,  and 
of  all  that  must  be  builded  again?  .  .  .  Adieu  now  — 
adieu  now!  Do  not  go  from  lands  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  without  my  leave." 

The  dark  was  come,  the  bright  stars  burned  above 
the  trees.  There  was  a  movement  from  the  knights' 
fire — Beauvoisin  coming  to  the  princess's  pavilions 
to  enquire  if  all  was  well  before  the  camp  lay  down 
to  sleep. 

Garin  felt  her  clasped  hands  against  his  brow,  felt 
her  cheek  close,  close  to  his.  "Go  now,"  she  breathed. 
"Go  now,  my  truest  friend!  What  comes  after 
winter?  —  Why,  spring  comes  after  winter!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SPRING   TIME 

IN  the  winter  dawn  Garin  rose,  saddled  his  horse, 
and,  mounting,  rode  from  that  place.  He  travelled 
through  burned  and  wasted  country,  and  he  saw 
many  a  piteous  sight.  But  folk  that  were  left  were 
building  anew,  and  the  sky  was  bright  and  the  sun 
shine  good.  He  went  by  the  ruins  of  Raimbaut's 
keep,  and  at  last  he  came  to  Castel-Noir. 

Foulque  lived  and  the  black  tower  stood.  News 
of  salvation  had  run  like  wildfire.  Garin  found 
Foulque  out-of-doors,  old  and  meagre  men  and 
young  lads  with  him.  The  dozen  huts  that  sheltered 
by  the  black  castle,  sheltered  still.  The  fields  that  it 
claimed  had  gone  undevastated.  "Garin's  luck!" 
said  Foulque;  whereupon  old  Jean  crossed  himself 
for  fear  that  Sir  Foulque  had  crossed  the  luck.  — • 
But  the  young  and  middle-aged  men  who  had  gone 
to  war  for  Roche-de-Frene  had  not  yet  returned. 
Some  would  not  return.  The  women  of  the  huts 
looked  haunted,  and  though  the  children  played, 
they  did  not  do  so  freely.  But  the  war  had  ended, 
and  some  would  come  back,  and  Christmas-tide  was 
at  hand  and  the  sun  shone  on  the  brown  fields. 

Foulque  saw  Garin  coming.  He  put  his  hand 
above  his  eyes.  "Peste!"  he  said.  "I  always  had 
good  sight  —  what's  the  matter  now?  Look,  boy, 
for  my  eyes  blur!" 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

They  all  looked,  then  they  cried,  "Sir  Garin!" 
and  the  younger  rushed  down  to  the  road. 

That  day  and  night  passed.  The  folk  of  Castel- 
Noir  had  liking  for  Sir  Foulque,  and  that  despite 
some  shrewdness  of  dealing  and  a  bitter  wit.  But 
they  were  becoming  aware  that  they  loved  Sir 
Garin.  He  stood  and  told  them  of  how  this  man  had 
done  and  how  that,  of  two  brave  deeds  of  Sicart's, 
and  how  Jean  the  Talkative  talked  but  did  well.  He 
told  them  who,  to  his  knowledge,  had  quitted  this 
life ;  and  he  spoke  not  like  a  lord  but  like  a  friend  to 
those  who  upon  that  telling  broke  into  mourning. 
He  could  not  tell  them  how  life  and  death  stood  now 
among  Castel-Noir  men,  for  he  had  been  away 
from  Roche-de-Frene.  Castel-Noir  came  to  under 
stand  that  he  had  been  upon  some  service  for  the 
princess,  and  that  that  explained  why  there  was  with 
him  neither  squire  nor  man.  To  Foulque  that  even 
ing  in  the  hall,  by  the  fire,  he  told  in  part  the  story  of 
what  the  princess  had  wrought  for  Roche-de-Frene. 

Foulque  drew  deeper  breath.  The  colour  came 
into  his  withered  cheek,  he  twisted  in  his  chair.  "  I 
heard  rumours  when  Aquitaine  lifted  and  went 
away,  and  Montmaure  slunk  back  —  but  my  habit  is 
to  wait  for  something  more  than  rumours !  .  .  .  That 
is  a  brave  lady — a  brave  adventure!  By  the  mass! 
When  I  was  young  that  would  have  stirred  me!" 

Garin  laughed  at  him.  "It  stirs  you  now, 
Foulque!" 

Foulque  would  not  grant  that.  But  even  while  he 
denied,  he  looked  less  crippled  and  shrivelled.  "  You 

362 


SPRING  TIME 

did  your  devoir  also.  .  .  .  Audiart  the  Wise  —  Well, 
she  may  be  so!" 

"She  is  so,"  said  Garin. 

He  slept  that  night,  stirred  in  the  early  morn 
ing,  rose,  and,  dressing,  called  to  Sicart's  son  in  the 
courtyard  to  bring  his  horse.  Old  Pierre  gave  him 
wheaten  bread  and  a  bowl  of  milk.  Foulque, 
wrapped  in  his  furred  mantle,  came  from  the  hall 
and  talked  with  him  while  he  ate  and  drank.  The 
sun  at  the  hilltops,  he  rode  down  the  narrow  way 
from  the  black  tower  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  fir 
wood.  He  rode  until  he  reached  a  certain  craggy 
height  of  earth  from  which  might  be  viewed  the  road 
by  which  the  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  must  ap 
proach  Our  Lady  in  Egypt.  The  height  was  shaggy 
with  tree  and  bush,  it  overhung  the  way,  command 
ing  long  stretches  to  either  hand.  Dismounting,  he 
tied  his  horse  in  a  small,  thick  wood  at  the  back 
of  the  hill,  then  climbed  afoot  to  the  rough  and 
broken  miniature  plateau  atop.  Even  as  he  came  to 
this  he  saw  upon  the  western  stretch  of  the  road  two 
horsemen,  and  presently  made  out  that  they  were 
men  of  Beauvoisin's  sent  ahead.  They  passed  beneath 
him,  cantered  on,  faces  set  for  Our  Lady  in  Egypt. 

Garin  found  a  couch  of  rock,  a  hollow,  sand- 
strewn  cleft  where,  lying  at  length,  small  bushes  hid 
him  from  all  observation.  Here  he  stretched  him 
self,  pillowed  his  head  upon  his  arms,  and  waited  to 
see  the  princess  pass.  Time  went  by,  and  the  morn 
ing  air  brought  him  sound  from  the  other  hand.  He 
parted  the  bushes  and  looking  east  saw  approaching 

363 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

a  great  and  gallant  troop  —  lords  and  knights  of 
Roche-de-Frene,  coming  to  greet  their  princess  close 
within  the  boundaries  of  her  own  land. . . .  They  came 
on  with  banners  —  a  goodly  column  and  a  joyful. 
Close  at  hand,  he  began  to  single  out  forms  and  faces 
that  he  knew,  and  first  he  saw  Stephen  the  Marshal 
riding  at  the  head,  and  then  Raimon  of  Les  Arbres, 
and  beside  this  lord,  Aimar  de  Panemonde.  Garin's 
heart  rejoiced  that  Aimar  lived.  He  looked  fondly 
upon  his  brother-in-arms,  riding  beneath  the  craggy 
hill.  Many  another  that  he  knew  he  saw.  Others 
he  missed,  and  feared  that  they  did  not  live  or  that 
they  lay  hurt,  for  else  they  would  have  been  here. 

The  great  troop,  for  all  it  rode  with  a  singing 
heart,  with  exultation  and  laughter  and  triumph, 
had  a  war-worn  look.  The  men  and  the  horses  were 
gaunt.  The  men's  eyes  seemed  yet  to  be  looking 
on  battle  sights.  Their  gestures  were  angular,  ener 
getic  and  final,  their  speech  short,  not  flowing.  The 
colour  of  bronze,  the  hardness  of  iron,  the  edge  of 
steel  were  yet  in  presence.  It  was  to  be  seen  that 
they  had  known  hunger  and  weariness  and  desper 
ation,  and  had  withstood  with  courage.  The  man 
stretched  upon  the  rock-edge  above  the  passing 
numbers  felt  his  communion  with  them.  They  were 
his  brothers.  .  .  . 

Not  only  these.  As  they  rode  by  he  saw  in  vision 
all  the  lands  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  those  who 
peopled  them,  men  and  women  and  children.  And 
the  town  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  its  citizens,  men 
and  women  and  children,  and  all  who  had  defended 

364 


SPRING  TIME 

it.  And  all  the  hills  and  vales  of  life.  ...  He  saw  the 
slain  and  the  hurt  and  the  impoverished  and  the 
hearts  that  bled  with  loss  —  the  waste  fields  and 
the  broken  walls.  He  saw  work  to  be  done  —  long 
work.  And  when  that  work  was  done  and  there 
were  only  scars  that  did  not  throb,  yet  was  there 
work  —  building  and  building,  though  it  could  not 
be  weighed.  He  saw  as  he  knew  that  she  saw  — 
and  the  land  became  deep  and  dear  to  him,  and  the 
people  became  father  and  mother  and  child,  brother 
and  sister  and  friend.  .  .  .  "It  is  a  baptism,"  said 
Garin,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands. 

The  great  company  went  by,  lessened  in  apparent 
bulk,  lessened  still  upon  the  westward  running  road. 
Its  trumpeters  sounded  their  trumpets.  Out  of 
the  distance  came  to  Garin's  ear  an  answering  fan 
fare,  delicate  and  far  like  fairy  trumpets.  Rising 
ground  and  purple  wood  hid  the  meeting  between 
the  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  her  barons  and 
valiant  knights. 

The  sun  climbed  toward  the  summit.  The  trouba 
dour  lay  in  the  high  cleft  of  the  rock,  felt  the  beams, 
breathed  the  clear,  pure  air,  hearkened  to  the  sough 
of  the  breeze  in  sere  grass  and  bush.  All  earth  and 
air  were  his,  and  the  golden  home  of  warmth  and 
light,  the  great  middle  orb  whose  touch  he  felt.  He 
waited  for  sound  or  sight  that  should  tell  him  that 
the  princess  and  her  doubled  train  were  coming.  It 
was  not  long  to  wait.  In  the  night  a  light  rain  had 
fallen  —  there  was  no  dust,  and  the  road  was  soft 
ened  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs.  The  great  com- 

365 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

pany  appeared  now,  like  a  vision,  brightened  and 
heightened  to  the  outer  eye  by  strength  of  the  inner. 
Beauty  and  might,  and  sadness  and  joy,  all  lights 
and  all  shadows,  gained  a  firmer  recognition. 

Garin,  concentred,  watched  the  company  come 
toward  him.  Again  there  echoed  the  eve  of  his 
knighthood,  when  through  the  darkness  he  had  kept 
vigil.  But  he  kept  vigil  now  a  more  awakened  being, 
with  a  wider  reach  and  a  richer  knowledge. 

The  train  came  toward  him,  and  now  he  heard  the 
sound  of  it,  the  tread  of  horses,  metallic  noises,  the 
human  voice,  all  subdued  to  a  deep  murmur  as  of  an 
incoming  sea.  This  increased  until  single  notes  were 
distinguishable.  The  form  grew  larger,  then  he 
could  see  component  forms.  Music  was  being  made, 
he  saw  the  great  blue  banners.  .  .  .  And  still  he  knew 
that  all  was  a  mightier  and  a  brighter  thing  than 
yesterday  he  had  known.  .  .  .  Now  he  saw  the 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  riding  between  Beau- 
voisin  and  Stephen  the  Marshal. 

She  passed  the  rock  whereon  he  lay,  and  he  saw  a 
great  and  high  and  bright  soul.  .  .  It  passed  —  all 
passed.  He  felt  the  darkness,  but  then  the  starlight. 

He  stayed  yet  an  hour  there  in  the  cleft,  with  the 
brown  grass  about  him  and  overhead  the  sky  like 
sapphire.  Then,  descending  the  crag,  he  sought  his 
horse  in  the  wood  and,  mounting,  turned  his  face 
toward  Castel-Noir. 

That  evening  in  the  black  tower  Foulque  would 
discuss  family  fortunes,  and  how  Castel-Noir  might 
be  first  recovered,  then  enlarged.  Garin  listened, 

366 


SPRING  TIME 

spoke  when  the  elder  brother  paused  for  him  to 
speak.  It  seemed  that  he  wished  somehow  to  better 
the  condition  of  tenants  and  serfs,  to  find  and  teach 
better  methods  of  living.  Foulque  jerked  aside 
from  that.  "We  are  good  masters.  Ask  any  one 
without  this  hall!" 

"Good  masters?  ...  We  may  be.   But  —  " 

Foulque  struck  at  the  fire  with  his  crutch.  "You 
are  a  poet  —  I  am  a  practical  man.  Let  us  leave 
dreaming !  .  .  .  Raimbaut's  castle  will  be  rebuilt  by 
the  next  of  kin." 

"Dreaming?  .  .  .  What  is  dreaming?" 

Foulque  left  his  chair,  and  limped  to  and  fro  be 
fore  the  huge  fireplace.  Garin  from  the  settle  corner 
watched  him.  The  light  played  over  both  and 
reddened  the  ancient  hall.  "Garin,"  said  Foulque, 
"knightly  fame  is  good  and  fame  of  a  poet  is  good, 
and  emirs'  ransoms  are  good  —  God  knows  they 
are  good !  But  when  will  you  wed  and  so  build  our 
house?" 

"Ah!"  said  Garin,  "did  you  ever  think,  Foulque, 
of  how  long  may  be  time?" 

Foulque  waved  his  hand.  "  You  should  not  play 
with  it !  You  should  think  of  the  future  !  They  say 
that  you  love  one  whom  you  call  the  Fair  Goal  — " 

But  Garin,  rising,  moved  to  a  deep  window,  and 
looking  out,  breathed  the  night.  "There  is  the  great 
star  in  the  arm  of  the  cypress!  ...  I  used  to  see  that, 
when  I  lay  in  those  hot  towns  of  Paynimry."  Nor 
would  he  speak  again  of  that  manner  of  building 
Castel-Noir. 

367 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

The  morrow  came  and  went  and  the  morrow  and 
that  morrow's  morrow.  December  paced  by  and 
gave  the  torch  of  time  to  January.  January,  a  cold 
and  dark  month,  gave  the  torch  to  February,  a  brief 
and  windy  one,  March  had  it  then,  and  he  had  ideas 
in  his  head  of  birds  and  flowers.  April  came  and  the 
world  was  green. 

The  ravaging  of  the  dragon  was  becoming  in 
Roche-de-Frene  an  old  thought.  Throughout  the 
winter  the  Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  and  the  able 
people  of  her  lands  laboured  to  redeem  well-being 
and  the  conditions  of  growth.  Plan  and  better  plan, 
faint  success  and  greater  success ;  and  now  when  the 
spring  was  coming,  good  ground  beneath  the  feet! 
The  land  began  to  smile.  The  town  of  Roche-de- 
Frene,  the  cathedral  and  the  castle  felt  the  warmth. 
Bishop  Ugo  preached  the  Easter  sermon,  and  he 
preached  a  mighty  and  an  eloquent  one.  You  felt 
lilies  and  roses  come  up  through  it. 

Ugo  had  said  at  Christmas-tide  that  he  had  never 
doubted  the  triumph  of  the  right.  Questioned  at 
Candlemas,  though  very  gently,  by  one  of  the  hyper- 
bold,  he  had  answered  gravely  that  Father  Eustace, 
in  confession,  had  acknowledged  that  he  was  not 
certain  as  to  whether  Our  Blessed  Lady  of  Roche- 
de-Frene  had  indeed  spoken  to  him.  Pride  had  been 
in  his  heart,  and  the  demon  himself  might  have 
taken  dazzling  form  and  spoken!  Father  Eustace 
for  penance  had  been  sent,  barefoot  and  dumb,  to  a 
remote  monastery  where  in  his  cell  he  might  gain 
true  vision.  Easter- tide,  Bishop  Ugo  flowered  praise 

368 


SPRING  TIME 

of  Roche-de-Frene's  princess.  That  great  lady  took 
it  with  her  enigmatical  smile. 

In  the  castle-garden  Alazais  watched  the  crocus 
bloom,  the  hyacinth  and  the  daffodil.  Gilles  de 
Valence  sang  to  her,  and  sometimes  Raimon  de 
Saint- Remy,  or,  when  no  troubadour  was  there, 
Elias  of  Montaudon  was  brought  upon  the  green 
sward  to  sing  other  men's  verses.  Knights  came  and 
went.  Her  ladies  made  a  bright  half-ring  about  her, 
and  she  and  they  and  the  knights  and  poets  dis 
cussed  the  world  under  the  star  of  Love. 

Sometimes  Audiart  came  into  the  garden,  but  not 
often.  There  was  much  that  yet  was  to  be  done.  .  .  . 
She  was  oftener  in  the  town  than  in  the  castle,  often 
away  from  both,  riding  far  and  near  in  her  domain, 
to  other  towns  and  villages  and  towers.  But  as  the 
spring  increased  and  the  green  leaves  came  upon  the 
trees,  order  was  regained.  The  sap  of  life  returned 
to  the  veins  that  had  been  drained,  time  and  place 
knew  again  hope  and  power.  The  princess  looked 
upon  a  birthland  that  had  lifted  from  a  pit,  and  now 
was  sandalled  and  ready  for  further  journeying.  She 
came  oftener  now  to  the  garden,  and  at  night,  from  her 
chamber  in  the  White  Tower,  she  watched  the  stars. 

In  the  town  whose  roofs  lay  below  her,  the  crafts 
men  were  back  at  their  crafts.  Again  they  were 
dyeing  scarlet  and  weaving  fine  webs  and  working  in 
leather  and  wax  and  metal  and  stone.  Merchant  and 
trader  renewed  their  life.  Roche-de-Frene  once  more 
hummed  as  a  hive  that  produced,  not  destroyed. 
It  produced  values  dense  and  small,  but  so  it 

369 


THE  FORTUNES   OF  GARIN 

learned  of  values  beyond  these.  Presently  the  old 
talk  of  liberty  would  spring  up,  not  feared  by  this 
princess.  When,  in  late  April,  she  held  high  court 
and  a  great  council,  Thibaut  Canteleu  —  Master 
Mayor,  clear-eyed  and  merry  —  sat,  with  two  of 
the  town's  magistrates,  in  the  council  chamber. 

On  the  eve  of  that  council  Stephen  the  Marshal 
spent  an  hour  with  the  princess.  She  made  him  sit 
beside  her  in  the  White  Tower;  she  spoke  to  him  at 
length,  in  a  low  voice  telling  a  story.  Stephen  lis 
tened  with  his  eyes  held  by  hers,  then,  when  she  kept 
silence,  bowed  his  face  upon  his  hands  and  sat  so  for 
a  time.  At  last  he  raised  his  head.  "  Mine  is  a  plain 
mind,  my  Lady  Audiart,  —  only  a  faithful  one! 
There  are  many  good  words,  and  '  friend '  is  a  right 
good  word,  a  high  knight  among  them,  and  'friend 
ship  '  is  a  noble  fief.  I  take  '  friend '  and  '  friendship ' 
for  my  wearing  and  my  estate,  my  Lady  Audiart  — 
aye,  and  I  will  wear  them  knightly,  not  cravenly, 
with  a  melancholy  heart!  Friend  to  you  and  friend 
to  him,  and  Saint  Michael  my  witness!  loyal  servant 
to  you  both." 

"Stephen,  my  friend,"  answered  the  princess, 
"you  say  true  that  great  liking  is  a  great  knight,  and 
lasting  friendship  is  a  mighty  realm!  It  plants  its 
own  happiness  in  its  own  fields." 

She  rose,  and  standing  with  him  at  the  window, 
spoke  of  old  things,  old  long  memories  that  they  had 
in  common,  spoke  of  her  father,  Gaucelm  the 
Fortunate. 

The  next  day  she  held  council,  sitting  on  the  dais 
370 


SPRING  TIME 

robed  in  blue,  a  gold  circlet  upon  her  head,  facing 
her  barons  and  knights-banneret,  churchmen  who 
held  lands  from  her,  and  leaders  of  the  townsmen. 
That  which  she  had  to  lay  before  them  was  the 
matter  of  her  marriage.  .  .  . 

At  Castel-Noir  the  dark  fir  trees  wore  emeralds. 
The  stream  had  its  loud  spring  music.  Nor  Foulque 
nor  Garin  had  been  idle  through  the  winter.  Back  to 
the  Black  Tower  and  the  hamlet  had  come  their  men 
who  had  fought  at  Roche-de-Frene  —  Foulque's 
men  and  the  men  who  had  come  with  Garin  from 
the  land  over  the  sea.  Houses  had  to  be  built  for 
these — more  fields  ploughed  and  planted.  Stables 
had  to  be  made  larger.  The  road  was  bad  that 
led  from  the  Black  Tower  to  the  nearest  highway; 
it  was  remade.  When  spring  came  Castel-Noir  was 
in  better  estate  than  ever  before.  Garin  spoke  of 
what  manner  of  priest  they  should  bring  in  —  and 
of  some  clerk  who  might  be  given  a  house  and  who 
could  teach. 

Raimbaut  the  Six-fingered  had  for  his  fief  been 
man  of  Montmaure,  but  for  it  Montmaure  had  been 
man  of  Roche-de-Frene.  Now,  again,  was  it  only 
Roche-de-Frene's.  Montmaure  might  look  blackly 
across  from  his  own  borders,  but  that  was  all.  .  .  . 
It  seemed  that,  escheating  to  the  ruling  house,  the 
barony  was  not  yet  given,  for  service  paid  and  to  be 
paid,  to  some  lord  who  should  rebuild  the  castle  and 
bring  up  the  lands  that  now  were  waste.  .  .  .  Foulque 
had  hours  of  speculation  as  to  that.  In  the  hall,  of 

371 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

evenings,  he  looked  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
at  Garin,  reading  or  dreaming  by  the  fire.  Who  had 
done  greater  service,  fought  better,  than  Garin?  If 
the  princess  were  truly  wise  —  if  she  were  grateful — 

Foulque  spoke  once  on  this  matter  to  Garin,  but 
received  so  absolute  a  check  that  his  tongue  declined 
to  bring  it  forward  again.  None  the  less,  his  brain 
kept  revolving  the  notion.  To  add  to  Castel-Noir 
the  whole  containing  fief,  from  knight  alone  to  be 
come  baron,  to  keep  the  Black  Tower  but  to  build 
besides  a  fair,  strong  castle  —  Who  at  Roche-de- 
Frene,  or  away  from  Roche-de-Frene,  had  served 
more  fully  than  had  Garin?  Foulque  thought  with 
a  consuming  impatience  of  how  little  he  seemed  to 
care  for  wealth  and  honours. 

On  the  heel  of  such  an  hour  as  this  with  Foulque, 
came  Aimar  de^Panemonde.  He  came  with  the 
sheen  and  beauty  of  the  spring.  Foulque  saw  him 
from  the  tower  window  as  he  left  the  fir  wood  and 
began  to  mount  the  winding  road.  Behind  him  were 
four  or  five  others.  All  rode  noble  horses,  all  were 
richly  clad.  It  came  into  Foulque's  head  —  from 
where  he  knew  not  —  that  here  was  an  envoy  with 
his  company.  The  little  troop  seemed  to  him  rich 
and  significant,  despatched  with  knowledge,  di 
rected  to  an  end.  At  once  Foulque  connected  that 
with  Garin  —  and  why  again  he  knew  not,  save  that, 
and  despite  his  sluggishness  in  the  matter  of  the 
fief,  fairy  things  did  happen  to  Garin. 

372 


SPRING  TIME 

Garin  of  the  Golden  Island  met  his  brother-in 
arms  without  the  castle  gate.  Aimar  threw  him 
self  from  his  horse.  Foulque  in  the  tower  above 
watched  the  two  embrace,  then  limped  down  the 
stair  to  meet  the  guest  and  order  the  household. 
.  .  .  And  soon  it  seemed  that  Sir  Aimar  de  Pane- 
monde  might  indeed  be  considered  an  envoy!  The 
Princess  of  Roche-de-Frene  would  have  Sir  Garin 
de  Castel-Noir  return  to  her  court  —  commanded 
his  presence  on  the  day  of  Saint  Mark. 

There  were  three  days  to  spare.  Aimar,  having 
discharged  his  mission,  spent  them  happily,  as  did 
those  who  had  ridden  with  him.  Foulque  made  talk 
of  the  court  and  the  town  until  —  and  that  was  not 
long  —  he  found  that,  for  some  reason  that  he  could 
not  discern,  Aimar  did  not  talk  readily  of  these. 
Ever  Foulque  wished  guests  of  Castel-Noir  to 
be  happy,  was  courteously  minded  toward  them. 
This  one  especially,  seeing  how  great  a  friend  to 
Garin  he  had  been  and  was.  So  Foulque  followed 
the  lead  of  the  younger  men,  and  in  the  hall,  after 
supper,  had  his  reward  in  stories  of  the  land  over 
the  sea  —  a  thousand  adventures  not  before  drawn 
from  Garin.  Aimar's  followers  and  as  many  Castel- 
Noir  men  as  could  crowd  into  hall,  came,  too,  to 
listen. 

Three  days  went  by.  On  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  farewells  were  made.  Garin  and  Aimar 
passed  out  of  the  gate  with  their  following  and  down 
the  winding  road.  With  Garin  was  Rainier  the 

373 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

squire,  and  two  or  three  besides.  Foulque  and  all 
who  might  watched  them  go,  took  the  backward- 
turning  wave  of  the  knights'  hands,  marked  them 
until  they  vanished  in  the  fir  wood.  Foulque  went 
back  to  hall  and  began  to  day-dream  of  Garin  and 
that  fief  had  that  been  Raimbaut's. 

The  two  knights  with  their  following  rode  through 
the  spring  weather.  Very  sweet  it  was,  earth  and 
sky  more  fair  than  might  be  told.  .  . .  And  so,  in  the 
early  afternoon,  they  came  in  sight  of  Roche-de- 
Frene. 

It  was  holiday  and  festival.  The  people  upon  the 
road  seemed  light-hearted.  The  scarred  plain  had 
been  helped,  and  now  spring  flung  over  it  a  mantle 
of  green.  When  they  came  to  the  hill  of  Roche-de- 
Frene  the  people  had  thickened  about  them;  when 
they  entered  by  the  western  gate  the  town  seemed 
joyous.  The  folk  were  abroad  and  there  was  to  be 
made  out  laughter  and  singing.  As  they  rode 
through  the  streets  they  met  again  and  yet  again, 
and  at  last  continually,  recognition.  It  had  a  nature 
that  might  please  the  knightliest  knight !  The  mar 
vel  of  the  cathedral  rose  before  them,  and  the  gold 
of  the  sunshine  and  the  sweetness  of  the  air  took 
from  it  a  shading  of  awfulness  but  gave  in  return 
benignancy.  They  mounted  the  high  street,  and  now 
the  mighty  shape  of  the  castle  increased.  Sunlight 
wrapped  it,  too,  and  above  was  the  stair  of  the  sky. 
Black  Tower  and  Eagle  Tower,  Red  Tower  and  Lion 
Tower  and  White  Tower  —  and  Garin  saw  the  tree- 
tops  of  the  garden.  .  .  .  They  crossed  the  moat,  en- 

374 


SPRING  TIME 

tered  between  Red  Tower  and  Lion  Tower.  Trum 
pets  were  being  sounded.  Here,  too,  seemed  festival. 
They  dismounted  in  the  outer  court  —  men  of  rank 
came  about  them  with  the  fairest  welcome  —  they 
were  marshalled  soon  to  a  rich  lodging.  Nones  were 
ringing,  the  spring  afternoon  slipping  away. 

An  hour  passed,  another  was  half  run.  Garin  of 
the  Golden  Island,  alone  save  for  Rainier  in  the 
room  that  had  been  given  him,  heard  the  knock  at 
the  door.  "Let  him  in,"  he  said  to  the  squire,  and 
Pierol  entered.  The  page  gave  his  message.  "Sir 
Garin  de  Castel-Noir,  the  princess  rests  in  the  gar 
den.  She  would  speak  with  you  there."  Garin  took 
his  mantle  and  followed. 

In  the  castle  garden  the  fruit  trees  were  abloom. 
Their  clear  shadows  lay  on  the  sward  while  the 
shadows  of  the  taller  trees  struck  against  the  enclos 
ing  walls.  Below  the  watch-tower  there  was  a  sheet 
of  daffodils.  The  many  birds  of  the  garden  were 
singing,  and  the  bees  yet  hummed  in  the  fruit  trees. 
But  there  was  no  gay  throng  other  than  these,  or 
other  winged  things,  or  the  selves  of  the  flowers. 

It  was  quiet  in  the  garden,  and  at  first  view  it 
seemed  a  solitude.  Then,  as  he  came  toward  the 
heart  of  it,  he  saw  the  princess,  seated  beneath  the 
great  tree  about  which  the  garden  was  built.  In 
the  droop  and  sweep  of  its  boughs  had  been  placed 
a  seat  of  marble  finely  wrought.  Here  she  sat,  robed 
in  blue,  and  wearing,  held  in  place  by  a  circlet  of 
gold,  a  veil  threaded  with  gold  and  silver.  But  to 
day  it  did  not  hide  her  face. 

375 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  GARIN 

As  he  came  near,  "Greeting,  friend!"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  was  thrilling  music. 

Garin  would  have  bent  his  knee.  But,  "  No! "  she 
said,  "do  not  do  that!  That  is  not  to  be  done  again 
between  you  and  me."  She  rose  from  the  marble 
seat.  She  stood  in  flowing  robes,  on  her  head  the 
gold  circlet  of  sovereignty,  and  she  looked  a  mighty 
princess,  knowing  her  own  mind,  guiding  her  own 
action,  freeing  her  own  spirit,  unlocking  always  new 
treasures  of  power  and  love!  She  came  close  to  him, 
stood  equal  with  him.  Their  eyes  met,  and  if  the 
princess  sat  in  hers,  the  prince  sat  in  his.  "  Do  you 
know  why  I  have  brought  you  here?"  she  said:  "I 
have  brought  you  here,  Garin  of  the  Golden  Island, 
to  ask  you  if  you  will  marry  me?" 

...  In  midsummer,  on  the  Eve  of  Saint  John,  they 
were  wed  in  the  cathedral,  with  great  music,  pomp, 
and  joy.  Afterwards  they  knelt  before  the  shrine  of 
Our  Lady  of  Roche-de-Frene,  and  there  were  people 
who  said  that  it  was  then  that  the  Blessed  Image's 
lips  moved  and  there  issued  the  words  "Peace  and 
Happiness."  Going,  the  two  passed  the  pillars  raised 
by  Gaucelm  of  the  Star,  and  coming  to  the  tomb  of 
Gaucelm  the  Fortunate  laid  flowers  there.  .  .  .  But 
when  their  own  long  reign  closed,  their  land  held 
them  in  memory  as  Audiart  and  Garin  the  Wise. 


THE    END 


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